


Watch For Me By Moonlight

by rosehalo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU in which they're thieves and jesse steals his heart, Alternative Universe - Bandit AU, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehalo/pseuds/rosehalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man was a surprisingly clever thief, he’d give him that. Seemingly quite the fool at least 95% of the time, but in the brief moments when he was stealing something, nothing seemed more natural to him in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.

**Author's Note:**

> It's here!! I'm so nervous.  
> Bandit AU/Thief AU! Based off of rambling between [myself](http://ugyaaa.tumblr.com/) and [kit](http://mccreehaw.tumblr.com/) and [something I drew based on them](http://ugyaaa.tumblr.com/post/149415561147/just-some-doodlin-for-bandit-au-that-me-n)  
> Also a huge thank you to [Cat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starscry/pseuds/starscry) for proofing this!!!!  
> Things to note: This fic is not pinned to a specific place or time period. Hanzo is 31, making Jesse 30 and Genji 28 at this point in time. Their backstories differ from canon, but some areas will remain the same. Also I haven't written anything in five years so please forgive my rookie mistakes (´；ω；`)  
> Please enjoy!

Breaking into the museum was outstandingly easy, actually.

It almost surprised Hanzo – or rather, it would have, except the man hadn’t come across a place yet that was safe against his smarts and extraordinary agility.

But aside from that, the building itself at night almost unsettled him. Its barren halls carried no sound but a sense of foreboding that reverberated through the corridors, only pierced by the gentle _tap tap tap_ of Hanzo’s shoes against the marble floor. He had an overwhelming, albeit ridiculous, feeling that he wasn’t alone – but he knew that couldn’t possibly be true. He’d spent a full two weeks planning this job and scrutinising every precaution taken that ensures no one is be able to enter past closing time. He had been extremely thorough in making sure this wasn’t going to _fuck up._ He always was thorough. Nothing escaped him, and for that he was proud.

Hanzo was a recent Yakuza runaway and this was his first robbery on such a scale. He was not as foolish as to make a silly mistake and wind up in trouble – he may not have done this before, but he had done plenty of other unsavoury things in his life thus far. His reason for leaving aside, Hanzo’s aforementioned exit from the Yakuza meant one thing for certain: He needed money, and he was taking the fastest route to making it. He didn’t have time to take up a part-time job – that was Hanzo’s equivalent to twiddling his thumbs, and it wouldn’t get him to where he needed to be half as fast as he’d like to be. He was an all or nothing man, anyway. a lone wolf, and someone commanding of respect who was served by others, certainly not the other way around. He was going to achieve his goals promptly, and he just needed to make a little money – starting by robbing this grandiose museum. Hanzo still had connections outside of the family, after all. If he could get the goods, he could sell them, too.

Hanzo’s faith in the family began to crumble seven years ago, around the time of his 24th birthday. His father, their oyabun, had passed recently and everything was not far from chaos. His younger brother had come under fire from the kobun that demanded he honour his duty but the two of them were of different kinds – and their relationship was far from ideal. Hanzo, as the older brother, was practically bound with his hands behind his back keeping the family alive. Genji, the younger, refused the weight of that responsibility. It was not long before he disappeared.

Hanzo had believed, for a while, that it was murder dressed to look like a runaway – but word soon spread of sightings and Hanzo couldn’t deny the ghastly feeling of bitterness that boiled within him every time he heard his brother’s name thereafter. For the longest time, he told himself it was shame. He came to realise it was jealousy – accompanied by the sharp sting of being left alone.

It was 2:25AM; the first person to enter was due to arrive at 5AM, giving him plenty of time to be in-and-out unnoticed. It was an easy job, once you got past all of the security, and yet that intense foreboding seemed unshakable, and as he pressed himself neatly between a towering stone pillar and one of the many glass cases of the exhibition, he could have sworn he heard footsteps that were not his own.

He stood motionless. An unpleasant musty smell irritated his nostrils, but was rapidly dismissed when he closed his eyes and fixated upon the sound.

There was a tense stretch of 20 seconds where he held his breath tight in his lungs, intent on catching it again – except it never came.

This bothered him more than it frightened him – because it didn’t frighten him at all. He mentally whisked through a list of possibilities and then, through the impossibilities. He was certain guards didn’t patrol here during the night time, which was why so many other security measures were taken – all this ensuring that on-site sentinels were absolutely unnecessary, and he was certain he’d disabled each and every one of them.

The silence stretched on, though. There were no more ‘footsteps’ and the halls had returned to their prior noiselessness, and so Hanzo took a few reticent steps out from his hiding place to peer around the corner. Hanzo’s gaze finally settled upon the jewel-adorned mask he’d set out to procure, except it was sitting in the hands of another man, staring right back at him from across the way.

Neither jolted. Both surprised, yes, but neither twitched an inch. They just stared.

It took a few weighted moments before someone decided to speak.

“Well,” The masked man began, raising gloved fingers to the brim of his hat and tipping it ever-so slightly. _“Howdy.”_ He then continued replacing the glass of the cabinet, and gently bagged the exhibition piece.

He wasn’t much taller than himself, Hanzo noted. His face was mostly obscured (much like his own) – he was dressed sharply in black and royal blue, accented with flecks of gold that scarcely caught the moonlight that drifted down from the skylight window.

He couldn’t quite make heads or tails of the situation. Suddenly, ludicrously, Hanzo felt like _he_ was the one being robbed. Outrage began to boil within his stomach and he took a fearless step towards the other trespasser, whom Hanzo noted, did not desist.

“How did _you_ get past all of the security measures?” he hissed, voice hushed, but still powerful enough in tone to relay his underlying threat.

Creases formed beneath the other’s eyes, and Hanzo could only conclude from this that he was smiling. _Arrogant,_ he thought, and his glove squeaked as he clenched his fist.

“Y’see, I came here ready to get rid of ‘em an’ all,” he began, assuming a more relaxed stance and gesturing slightly with his free hand to Hanzo himself, “An’ when I realised it’d already been taken care of, I thought, _shoot, this must be my lucky day!_ ”" He chuckled, placing his hand smoothly on his hip, “I s’pose that was your doin’ though, huh? You in here to get somethin’ nice?”

Hanzo prickled visibly at the familiarity. He was most certainly being mocked, and by someone so stupid as to think it was pure _luck_ that every security measure in this airtight building had been unanimously forgotten about by the last person to lock the door.

His eyes zeroed in on the bag in the other’s hand, and he raised his own to the bow on his back, sliding his fingers against the silver metal.

“You _will_ give that to me.”

The man cocked his head softly and breathed out another airy laugh, which only served to grind Hanzo’s gears ever further.

“This ain’t yours, _darlin’_ , and…” He flipped aside the serape that hung across his shoulder to expose the gun strapped to his side for a fleeting moment – intentionally, certainly, “…the way _I_ see it – what’s the sayin’…” He shrugged, _“Y’ snooze, y’ lose?”_

Hanzo snarled behind his bandanna. “An incapable fool who profits off the backs of others’ hard work.”

The other man looked unperturbed.

“A li’l bit hypocritical, but surely, there’s somethin’ else in here that y’fancy? There’s plenty o’ nice things just _waitin’_ t’ be stolen by a handsome fella’ like y’self.”

Hanzo only grimaced further. _“I will not be swayed.”_

The man slipped the bag over his shoulder, audibly huffing as he gazed what could only be perceived as, from the little Hanzo could see, _sympathetically_ back at him.

“A darn shame.” He shook his head.

And with that, he was racing back down the hallway he came from with Hanzo hot on his tail. Hanzo was nimble, very, _very_ fast, but still this man was just as fast as he was, and he knew where he was going, at that. Hanzo could only take from this that a lot of planning had gone into this man’s escape route beforehand, and that he may not have been as much of a fool as he seemed. Or seems. He hadn’t made up his mind.

A swift running leap up to a rope ladder overhanging the ledge of an open window had the man scaling the wall proficiently, yanking the rope up behind him with the toe of one of his black leather boots.

He turned only momentarily, hooking a finger around the brim of the scarf that obscured his mouth and exposing the audacious grin behind it. “Sorry, _darlin’,_ but I’ll be takin’ this.”

Hanzo could have sworn the man winked at him in that moment, much to his revulsion, before slipping out of sight beyond the museum walls. Hanzo was not deterred, though. He had plenty of tricks of his own.

Anyone would think him a kind of animal as he ascended the wall without the use of any tools, and faster, too, Hanzo thought smugly to himself, than the target he was chasing. By the time he’d perched himself upon the ledge, mystery man was disappearing just beyond the swaying trees, but losing sight of him still could not discourage Hanzo from the hunt.

And that’s exactly what he did.

Hanzo managed to track the man down to a crude motel just off the beaten track where he watched him curse and fumble for his keys for a good five minutes before he actually got through the front door.

_Truly a fool,_ Hanzo reiterated to himself.

-

For the next four days, Hanzo kept a loose tab on the man’s movements. While his initial intentions had been to take back the museum piece, he dared not admit that it was developing into something more out of interest than anything else. He scowled at that, whenever his thoughts prompted it.

The man was a surprisingly clever thief, he’d give him that. Seemingly quite the fool at least 95% of the time, but in the brief moments when he was stealing something, nothing seemed more natural to him in the world. He was always collected – he had a cheerful disposition that made him a whole lot less suspicious, and he was so fluid in his movements, so practiced and, dare he admit it, _professional._ Hanzo got the feeling that he’d been doing this for most of his life.

In one day, he saw him steal a whole bag’s worth of groceries from about six different stores, three wallets, a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon and a pair of shoes – and all of his victims were none the wiser. Not only that, the look on his face and the skip in his step really made it look like he was really, truly enjoying himself.

And he didn’t always dress like something from a cheesy Hollywood movie, either. Beneath that slightly gaudy hat he hid a neat crop of brown hair, most often slicked back, well groomed. He always seemed to dress well, which was a huge betrayal of Hanzo’s expectations after seeing the current conditions he was living in, if he could base those off of the outward appearances of that godforsaken, shoddy motel.

The only other thing about the man that surprised him was that he didn’t seem to have any friends. At least in the surrounding area, that was. He never had visitors, and he didn’t seem to visit anyone. To those he spoke to, he never spoke long, and for the most part of his day he was cooped up alone in that drab, dimly lit room that Hanzo scarcely saw beyond the door.

Hanzo had been staying in a hotel about 25 minutes away from here prior to his investigation. A place far cleaner than this, too, Hanzo acknowledged smugly to himself. It wasn’t expensive, but evidently he was a man of much higher standards than the one he’d been watching for the last few days. When the man retired for the day, Hanzo would return to his own quarters – and the next day he’d return early hours to watch him again. For some unsettling reason unbeknownst to him, Hanzo found him almost _fascinating._ Watching him was like watching a performance.

But on the fourth day, the man left his motel room in the evening, not long after arriving back, wearing the same outfit he’d worn on the night they collided. Hanzo pursued him as he coasted the sombre backstreets until he arrived at his destination, not too far from where they’d came. He expertly scaled the tall barbed gate of the old estate and dropped gingerly into a dense bed of delphiniums, just beyond the bars. There was a fleeting second when Hanzo could swear he was being considerate of the flowers – the way he tiptoed to avoid crushing them beneath his unwieldy boots before trekking hastily to the rear entrance of the villa. Hanzo watched from afar, perched upon one of the thicker branches of a grand oak tree that stood just behind the fence.

It almost tickled Hanzo when he realised the man was knelt in the soft expanse of grass carefully picking handfuls of flowers from the abundant flowerbeds. He was attentively sorting through them, plucking from different patches and creating a sort of miniature bouquet that he then slipped beneath his jet black serape. Before Hanzo knew it, he’d opened the window with unexpected ease, and sight of him was lost to the darkness of the halls.

Hanzo, still slightly baffled, remained upon his perch.

He spent a moment taking in the estate itself.  It was considerable, certainly. The garden alone was more than spacious, a good fifty yards at least. The beds brimmed with thick bushels of flowers that lined the outskirts of the enclosure and nestled against the myriad of stone statues and water features, those of which functioned still even through the night time. Crickets chirped against the smooth trickling of the rushing water, and it was in that peaceful moment that a light flickered into being on the third floor.

He felt silly, really, when the panic began to surge through his stomach. He looked up to the third storey window, a second light in the succeeding room now brought forth the ominous silhouette of a person on the opposite side of a sheer yellow curtain. As quick as he’d spotted them, they vanished from his limited view and Hanzo’s grip solidified around the branch beneath his feet. He bit back the urge to call out to the man – because despite himself, he _shouldn’t_ care. He shouldn’t be involved. He shouldn’t even be here. If the fool was caught, then he by all rights deserved it. A failure of a thief who made a fool’s mistake.

The jarring crack of a gunshot tore Hanzo from his introspection and had him springing to his feet. He leapt from the branch of the oak to the cusp of the jagged fence, feet resting in the small gaps between the spikes as he considered his next move – but his adrenaline-enhanced thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the thief bounding through the open window and darting across the green towards him. Hanzo relented, readily offering his hand to him, noting the glossy sheen on his right shoulder and the distressed way he held his chest. Wordlessly, hurriedly, he took Hanzo’s hand and was hoisted up over the gate, both fleeing from the scene in a fervid frenzy, only stopping when they were able to duck for cover in one of the many low-lit backstreets.

They were both panting, frazzled, but Hanzo was the first to speak this time.

“You were shot,” He huffed, eyes falling from the man’s shrouded face to his bloodied shoulder, a small nick visible in his serape. “Show me.”

Silence befell them again, aside from their shallow breaths and the shuffling of the man’s feet as he struggled to stand still. He simply shook his head and grunted.

“Not yet,” He heaved, “Back at the motel.”

Hanzo didn’t make a fuss.

-

They arrived at the motel a strained ten or so minutes later. The first thing the man did after busting through the door was toss his hat across the room, where it slipped off of the crumpled sheets and fell into the gap between his bed and the wall. He yanked the scarf from his mouth, exposing his gritted teeth and tumbled back onto a seat in the far corner.

The room itself was just about as atrocious as he thought it would be. The light from the ceiling fixture made the room glow a dim orange, and upon closer inspection was actually filled with the corpses of many tiny dead insects. The furnishing of the room was outdated, to say the least – the curtains were frayed around the edges, the wallpaper peeled down the wall in long shredded stripes, and there were chunks of fabric missing from the carpet in substantial patches beneath his feet. He was grimacing once again, but his attention returned to the man in the chair.

His gloved hand clutched his chest, and his head rested against the wall behind him. Hanzo said nothing.

He pulled back the heavy cloth of his serape to inspect his wound except, much to Hanzo’s bewilderment, there was no wound at all.

The pathetic bouquet of flowers was surprisingly mostly intact, spilling from his shirt pocket like vines growing from within his chest - the man removed them, gently, and held them out in earnest.

Was he smiling?

“These’re fer you,” He breathed, finally seeming to have caught his breath. “My _secret admirer_.”

It took him a moment, but suddenly, Hanzo was infuriated.

His lips parted to speak but he fumbled over his thoughts when he realised the implications behind those few words. He’d known Hanzo was watching him? For how long?

Hanzo closed his mouth, lest he say something foolish. He felt like a child caught misbehaving and all at once, he regretted helping him.

“Unless you’d like to tend to your wound alone, you will be silent.” He seethed, brows knitted close. He threw the serape back over the man’s shoulder with little consideration for the wound, earning a sharp flinch and pained groan deep within his throat. He took to yanking the man’s tie from around his neck and callously pulled at his buttons one by one. The sodden shirt peeled away from his skin and Hanzo let it fall to the crook of his arm, getting a clear look at what they were dealing with.

Much to Hanzo’s dismay and the man’s good fortune, the bullet seemed to have only scraped the muscle of his shoulder. It bled profusely, although the wound was small and far from as drastic as it could have been if the assailant was a better shot.

“You are lucky there is little damage,” Hanzo said, matter-of-fact, turning on his heel to cross the room and push back the bathroom door. He promptly began to wash his hands. “I’d assumed worse by the way you reacted.”

_Dramatic,_ Hanzo thought, but did not say. “You need to clean the wound. Get up.”

The man exhaled a deep breath before he begrudgingly pulled himself from his seat.

He grumbled, _“…Still stings like a sonovagun…”_

Hanzo observed the sheen of sweat across the exposed, scarred skin of his chest and arm, mixed with blood as it trickled in a slow stream down his bicep. He was considerably muscular, although concealed beneath all those layers, you’d never be able to tell –

The upward twitch of the other’s lip had Hanzo returning his attention to the sink cabinet and the contents within it.

“You can clean it yourself.”

The man’s smile grew wider still. “So _cold._ An’ here I thought y’cared.”

“Ridiculous,” Hanzo spat, snatching the roll of bandages from the lower shelf, slipping into the murky orange glow of the main room and tossing them onto the bed.

He heard a chuckle, the screeching twist of a rusty faucet and then the concerning gurgle of water as it spewed from the tap. The flow became even, and then he heard him wash his hands.

“If y’ didn’t care – _tch, shit…”_ he hissed, experiencing some discomfort, “…then why’d you help me?”

Hanzo contemplated. He peered through the dishevelled curtains down the dark stretch of dusty road, and within the darkness couldn’t find an answer – for the man, or for himself.

He looked down to his feet.

“…I wonder.”

A few moments passed before the man returned from the bathroom, shirt, mask, scarf and gloves omitted as he sat himself on the bed. It creaked beneath him, prompting Hanzo to turn his head.

“All that time you spent on rooftops, in trees n’ bushes, I thought you were waitin’ t’kill me.” The man spoke, hand clutching his shoulder as it began to weep again. “An’ it turns out you were just stalkin’ me?” Hanzo flinched at the phrasing, “Was it _‘love at first sight’?_ ”

Hanzo could tell he was being facetious, but that didn’t stop him from taking the bait.

“I intended to take back the mask.” he snarled, arms folding across his chest as the man lit a cigarillo.

There was silence between them once more; both faces mirrored that unasked question, _then why didn’t you?_

He blanched as the man began to unfurl the bandage, raising the cigarillo to his lips as he attempted to wrap his shoulder.  

“So, d’ya know my name?”

“No.” Hanzo’s response was immediate and firm, and he approached him, pressing the beginning of the bandage with his middle and forefinger to hold it steady.

“It’s Jesse,” he, too, spoke without hesitation, shifting the cigarillo from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Jesse McCree. Don’t suppose y’gonna give me yours?”

He faltered, focussed on the bandage beneath his fingers and the way that Jesse awkwardly stretched to avoid them. When he finally lost his patience, Hanzo snatched the bandage from his hand and began to continue the task himself.

“Hanzo.”

_“Hanzo,”_ Jesse reiterated, with no hint of mocking. More like he was testing the way it sounded out of his own mouth.

Hanzo secured the bandage around his shoulder and stepped back a few paces, reopening the distance between the two of them, and leaning against the wall. The growing tension was palpable, at least on his end, because Jesse seemed just about as docile as if he were talking to an old friend of his. He puffed out a long stream of smoke before he spoke again.

“Y’know, the work y’did back at the museum sure saved me a lotta trouble.”

Hanzo scoffed. _“You’re welcome.”_

“I was real impressed. S’unfortunate we were after the same thing.” When Hanzo didn’t reply, he persisted, “why the mask?”

Hanzo relented and sat himself in the seat beside the window, eyes meeting Jesse’s almost restlessly, as if he wasn’t sure where to look.

“Money,” he stated, and Jesse let a small puff of smoke escape his nose.

“O’course.” The man plucked the cigarillo from his lips and began adjusting himself, kicking off his boots, making himself a little _too_ comfortable for Hanzo’s liking. Had he no shame? Or rather, in this case, had he no sense of danger? Hanzo was very blatantly armed and was not the warmest of people. But, he supposed, aiding his escape and patching up his wounds nullified the idea that he was much of a threat. Although, it really shouldn’t. “What’d’ya need that kinda money for?”

Hanzo huffed. “That is none of your concern.”

Jesse crushed out the remaining embers of his cigarillo on the top of his bedside table and his gaze hardened when their eyes met again.

“It could be.”

Hanzo’s expression posed a question, and Jesse continued.

“We could team up.”

_“Nonsense,”_ Hanzo breathed behind his bandanna, glancing dismissively across the room.

“I’m serious. Y’pretty good at what you do.”

“Who would team up with a fool like you?”

Jesse smirked again, clearly no offense taken. “Someone who wants t’make fast money.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. He attempted to not appear intrigued – money was exactly what he was after. But that wasn’t enough to sway him.

“I refuse. I can do that alone.”

Jesse leaned forward, one hand settling on his knee as he gestured with the other. “D’you know how much more money y’can make with more than one person? ‘N how much _simpler_ it makes things?” He combed his hand through his sweat-matted hair. “How much easier it is with someone watchin’ yer back?” He spoke as if he knew from experience, but Hanzo was still inclined to refuse him.

“You-“

_“Look,_ I ain’t askin’ f’yer hand in marriage.” Hanzo scowled at that, “There’s a few big jobs I’ve had in the works for a while now that I know I can’t pull off alone – but with you…” He paused, but the resolution is his voice did not waver, “…I reckon we could do it.”

Hanzo shot a searing glare at him before he began to speak again, bitter from being interrupted. “You are an imbecile who was just _shot_ while attempting to rob someone’s home. I would never entrust my safety to such an incapable fool.”

Jesse frowned, the first one Hanzo had seen on him yet.

“Now, listen here – if you hadn’t been there, it wouldn’ta happened. I been there a hundred times, in ‘n out, and never got caught _once.”_

“Are you honestly saying that my presence is what caused you to be shot?”

Jesse huffed and folded his arms, sitting upright as if to convey just how serious he was being.

“Y’see, when I was openin’ up her jewellery box, I dropped yer flowers, an’ when I tried to pick ‘em up, I-“

_“My_ flowers?”

“Yeah, them flowers I picked for ya.” He gestured a thumb to the feeble bundle beside his pillow. “They slipped outta my pocket when I was leanin’ over the dresser, I knocked over a bottle a’ _eau de parfum_ an’ it woke her up. She’s pretty hard a’ hearin’, an’ I’m usually so quiet she don’t bat an eyelid.”

Hanzo was astounded that Jesse was trying to pass the blame over to him with such a ridiculous excuse. He didn’t grace him with a reply.

“Jus’ thought it would be funny, is all.” He digressed. “An’ her flowers are mighty pretty. The nicest you can get round here for miles. Wouldn’t give y’the cheap stuff, _darlin’.”_

They looked at each other, a smile creeping onto Jesse’s cheeks, as it always seemed to. It bothered Hanzo to no end.

“Although y’don’t seem like the laughin’ type.”

“You do not amuse me.” Hanzo glowered.

Jesse raised an eyebrow and relaxed once more, rolling his shoulder gently as if to ease the ache. That insolent smirk never left his lips.

_“Stick around an’ we’ll see about that.”_

It fell quiet.

For a few fleeting seconds, Hanzo thought back to watching Jesse ‘working’ in the streets below – the amusement plain on his face, the excitement he felt and how entertaining it was just to watch him, hoping in the back of his mind that he would get away with it. That he’d _never_ get caught.

He was radiant and happy. He looked like a free man.

In that moment Hanzo came swiftly to the realisation that this man was doing everything he wanted to do – and he was doing it very well. Maybe that was why he helped him – why he offered him his hand.

Hanzo smoothed the tips of his fingers over the ridges of his knuckles, hands resting soundly in his lap. He dared not look at Jesse or that _goofy_ smile on his face, because the man clearly knew how to act – he could be persuasive, he could be convincing, and Hanzo had spent the majority of his life batting away those that wanted to take advantage of him. He would not fall into the same trap he was born in.

But he cursed his thoughts for being so far one-sided. He cursed Jesse McCree for being so magnetic. Did Jesse really expect him to place so much trust in him?

Hanzo’s stream of thought was interrupted by the low rumble of Jesse’s voice, and he snapped to face him involuntarily.

“Y’don’t gotta make up y’mind _right now,_ sweet-cheeks. The offer’ll still be standin’ when I see you crouchin’ in my shrubs tomorrow.”

His easy-going attitude was making Hanzo’s skin prickle. He was so infuriatingly _calm_.

“Mock me and this will be the last you see of me.”

Jesse raised his hands in defence. “Wouldn’t dream of it, _darlin’.”_

Hanzo closed his eyes when Jesse’s nonsense proved to be too much for him to handle, chest expanding as he inhaled deep and shrinking when he finally heaved an exhausted sigh. Of course, he should have known, being so close to someone so _animated_ was going to run him dry.

Jesse tilted his head slightly as if to get a better look at his face.

“Y’ever take that bandanna off?”

Hanzo shot him a very vicious side-eye. _“No.”_

“Why? Y’got somethin’ weird under there?”

_“No.”_

“Y’so handsome y’scared I’ll fall in love with ya?”

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose. The teasing was relentless, and he was not in the mood for jokes. In fact, he was never in the mood for jokes. He was in the mood for sleep, now that he pondered on it, and in that moment he rose to his feet. He hadn’t checked the time, but he could tell by the abyssal black of the sky and the glaze of stars that painted it that it was time for him to take his leave.

“I will be going now.”

Jesse snorted ever so slightly as he watched him pull back the door.

“I’ll see ya round. If y’ever get lonely, y’know where to find me.” He grinned, already beginning to undress himself. Hanzo just shook his head. “Y’don’t gotta be a stranger lurkin’ on rooftops anymore, y’hear?”

He took one final look back into the travesty that was Jesse McCree’s motel room before decisively closing the door. Hanzo had thought he heard the distinctive sound of hinges snapping, but that wasn’t going to gnaw at his conscience. The place was a dump to begin with – if it collapsed in on itself, it would be doing itself a favour.

Hanzo began his trek down the long stretch of road back to the lights of the twinkling city, his lungs welcoming the brisk midnight air before he gave the motel one final, fleeting look.

He could have sworn he saw the golden light of a cigarillo peeking through the curtain of Jesse’s room.


	2. O, sweet black waves in the moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The comments on my first chapter motivated me so much I wrote this one in two days >:D  
> Thank you so much everyone for the kind words about my little story! I'm trying my best!!!  
> I hope you all like this one! Thanks again to [Cat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starscry/pseuds/starscry) for proofing!! You're an angel!!

_“The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees._

_The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas._

_The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,_

_And the highwayman came riding—_

_Riding—riding—_

_The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.”_

A cry ripped through the dawn’s soft ambience and shook Jesse awake. His breaths came fast and shallow and his sweat-dampened hands held rigidly onto the filthy sheets as he sat himself up, disoriented.

It took a few gears to turn for him to realise that _he_ had been the source of the noise. He tossed his feet over the edge of the bed to stand, but keeled over, placing his head in his hands as he squeezed his eyes shut tight. 

Nausea washed over him with the crash of a tidal wave and he covered his mouth to avoid spilling his guts across the motel carpet – _regret_ was all he tasted when the shivers wracked through his bones.

Jesse very rarely had nightmares. It had been a surprisingly long while since he’d had one, now that he thought about it. _Might’a been the door breakin’ that got me all paranoid,_ he considered.

In his mind’s eye, he saw the ominous man in black with the bird mask riding up outside the motel on a bony steed, like one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse – like Death, come to collect his head. Jesse jolted upright again and snatched up his gun, eyes frantically darting around the room as he checked for the demon, just to make sure. He threw back the sheets of his bed, crouched to check beneath, and headed for the bathroom, tugging back the shower curtain, too.

His heart was thumping out of his chest and the adrenaline that coursed through his veins made his finger tremble against the trigger of his gun. Despite himself, Jesse sobbed and held his head when he slid down the bathroom wall into a miserable slump on the floor.

 _“…the fuck’m I doing…”_ he spoke, weakly, throat congested by a thick knot.

Peacekeeper clattered onto the grimy tiles beside him. He’d been alone for so long now, he hadn’t remembered how it made him feel to share some space with another person – how he’d unwind like tightly coiled thread, letting his mouth run for once with someone there to listen, instead of sitting in the dark of his shitty motel room alone with his upsetting, debilitating thoughts.

He couldn’t help but laugh at himself, mind flitting back to memories of yesterday – memories of him trying awkwardly to hit it off with Hanzo, and Hanzo glaring back at him with those sharp, dark eyes full of disdain. Jesse couldn’t blame him. He looked at himself like that, too.

He prayed that he hadn’t come on too strong, because more than anything he needed to avoid seeming desperate. Although, that was the reality of it.

Jesse was plagued by the ghosts of his past. He didn’t need anyone to get rid of them – he needed that shift in focus that came with the comforts of companionship, and it confused him when Hanzo stalked him like a predator day after day, but made no attempt on his life. It was gradual, but it gave Jesse the most absurd inkling that, maybe, this man was as lonely as he was – or maybe Jesse was desperate enough to twist it all completely and utterly _backwards_ in order to please himself. But he shook his head. The man was so cold. It wasn’t friendship he was after. Jesse was just a dumbass who screwed up Hanzo’s well put-together plan and made all his hard work worth jack shit at the end of the day. Jesse made it that way himself.

When his legs allowed it, Jesse hauled himself up from the bathroom floor and switched on the shower, because Christ, he needed one.

Jesse attempted to remove the bandage with a grimace before he stepped inside. It was caked in blood, dried to his skin and it hurt when he tried to tug on it. Jesse settled for showering with it on, and it eventually became loose enough to slip from his arm and into the shower basin. He stared vacantly at the vortex of diluted blood as it funnelled into the drain, barely acknowledging the sting of his reopened shoulder. He almost wished he didn’t have to come out.

-

The hours ticked and slowly turned into days until Jesse figured Hanzo was probably never even real in the first place – but a few days down the line, Jesse was stirred by the sound of a soft voice behind the door, and in a state of panic, dove out of bed and tumbled a few loud, clumsy steps before regaining his balance. He attempted to compose himself. It had to be him. Hanzo was the only one that knew he was there.

When he pried the door back, the hinges screeched and protested as if the door was threatening to detach itself, but Jesse’s mind was elsewhere when he finally, _finally_ got another look at Hanzo’s face.

Or, at least, the half uncovered by the bandanna.

He could see in his eyes that Hanzo was taken aback by his appearance. Jesse wasn’t sure what he looked like since he hadn’t seen the mirror in days, but if Hanzo’s face was anything to go by, he could take a wild guess that it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Howdy,” Jesse said, at ease.

Hanzo reassessed him, then peered over his shoulder into the room behind him. “You have not left this room in five days.”

Jesse scratched the stubble of his beard, noting it had grown significantly from being almost entirely clean-shaven the last time they spoke. But he was keeping up appearances then. It felt unnecessary if Hanzo wasn’t coming back, and he wasn’t going to fruitlessly keep his hopes up. He’d only get dressed up when he had to leave the motel.

“I jus’ like havin’ time to myself, is all. An’ I thought I told you to quit bein’ a stranger?” Jesse jeered, a small smile gracing his lips.

Hanzo didn’t respond – just kept looking at him with those vaguely concerned eyes that always seemed on edge, like he was thinking a thousand thoughts at once and was probing through them one-by-one until he found exactly what he wanted to say.

Jesse decided to speak first. “Made up y’mind about saddlin’ up with me?”

If Hanzo’s expression was anything to go by, he didn’t _look_ like he had. He looked like he was forcing himself to stand anywhere near him, actually, and that made Jesse a little glum.

Hanzo seemed to have chosen what he wanted to say. “You should not stay in this room for so long,” he squinted, feet stark still just outside the doorway, “It is… not good for your health.”

Jesse reflected for a moment on those implications, because that could mean a whole lot of different things, coming from him. One, _well, he could be tryin’ to tell me I jus’ look like shit,_ two, _he actually gives a damn about my well-bein’,_ or three, _he wants me to go out somewhere. With him._

He reached his arms back behind his head, pulling his muscles taut beneath his skin in a long, well deserved stretch that was accompanied by a few quiet pops and cracks. Thankfully, the wound on his shoulder was a dull ache at this point and running hot water over it didn’t sting anymore.

“I s’pose I’ll get myself cleaned up, then.” Jesse shrugged, turned away from his guest and began to disrobe, although he hadn’t been wearing very much to begin with. With his hand on the knob to the bathroom door, Jesse faced Hanzo once more. He was still standing out front. “Y’can come inside, y’know? Sorry f’the mess.”

Hanzo hesitated, but then seated himself in the chair by the window, which was coincidentally the only place free of clutter. Jesse chuckled at the other’s reluctance and entered the bathroom.

First, he took a glance in the mirror.

 _“Yikes.”_ Jesse groaned. Now he could understand why Hanzo looked at him the way he did.

For starters, he needed a shave, but he’d do that after his shower. His hair was matted and felt about as bad as it looked when he ran his fingers through it. In most cases, Jesse would never show his face to anyone looking like this – he was far too proud of his appearance for that, but his desperation made Hanzo an exception, just this once.

He peeled the bandage from his shoulder and turned the shower on, testing the temperature gingerly with his hand before allowing himself to be enveloped entirely in its warmth. It felt very different from the shower he’d had a few days back, consumed by thoughts of the man in black. He shook his head – Hanzo was here, and even if he shouldn’t trust him, knowing he was there took the edge off. Hanzo could be robbing him blind for all he knew. Not that Jesse would’ve cared, though.

Jesse’s head tipped back against the wall and he let the water spray down his neck, across his chest and over the planes of his stomach. If he didn’t have a guest, he could’ve spent at least 30 minutes just standing exactly as he was. Thinking. Or, avoiding thinking about anything – just escaping reality for a small portion of his day. Since that wasn’t the case, Jesse allowed for just a couple more moments of indulgence before he began to wash his hair.

When he exited the bathroom clad in one of the few towels he owned, freshly shaven and looking considerably better than he had upon entering, Jesse browsed the floor, and the clothes that littered it.

He spared a glance up at Hanzo, who was sat unmoved like a stone statue in the corner of his room, much to his relief. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he acted, as if touching something other than the chair in Jesse’s room was going to give him some kind of disease.

Looking at him, it was clear that he, too, cared about his appearance a great deal. Not a hair was out of place, slickly tied back with a thick satin ribbon, the dahlia contrasting strikingly against the sombre black of his hair that was pulled snug in a way that exaggerated the stunning high bones of his cheeks. He wore a crimson dress shirt that rivalled the red of his ribbon, and a jet waistcoat over that – and to top it all off, he sat with the poise and elegance of someone descended from royalty, not a delinquent like himself. It took Jesse several seconds to realise he was stood in silence drenching the carpet, taking a good hard look at Hanzo’s face.

Nonchalantly, Jesse returned to ciphering through his clothes. Hanzo watched him, Jesse noted, so he thought he’d extort the situation.

Jesse reached down to swipe up a relatively clean shirt, then raised an eyebrow suggestively and offered Hanzo his cheekiest grin.

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

Hanzo pokerfaced him, not averting his gaze. “You have many scars.”

Jesse balked and let a hand ghost over a fairly prominent scar across his ribs. “S’pose I do.”

“You appear to get yourself into trouble often.”

Jesse smiled at that. “Well, that depends on how y’look at it. The way I see it,” he said, drumming his fingers over more of the scars that sprinkled his chest, “I been in trouble since the day I was born. Trouble seems’ta bring itself to me.”

Hanzo considered him for a short while, looking up at him like he was trying to understand something about him. Jesse pulled open the drawer of a rickety cabinet across from the bed and swiped himself some underwear.

“Y’might wanna turn ‘round for this bit. Wouldn’t wanna get y’pretty face all flustered,” he jeered, and wasted no time in dropping his towel. Hanzo furrowed his brow and turned his head swiftly to scrutinise the state of the motel walls.

“This place is not suitable for living in,” Hanzo muttered. Jesse couldn’t disagree.

“Well, where’re you livin’, hot-shot? Show me th’ keys to your mansion.”

Hanzo heard the rustle and zip of Jesse’s jeans and turned back to face him as he slipped a chequered shirt over his broad shoulders. He could tell Hanzo wasn’t prepared to divulge where he was currently staying, although he had a feeling that if he endeavoured, it wouldn’t be too hard for him to find out where it was. The silence lingered, as it always did.

“I ain’t got the privilege of bein’ able to _afford_ anywhere better’n this. It’s all I got.”

“Selling the mask you took from the museum would amend that ten times over.”

Jesse looked at him as he fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. He was already aware of that, but he wasn’t prepared to disclose any of the other reasons he had for living in such squalor.

“It’s a good place t’hide out. Not many come out this way.” Jesse contended, “An’ I know it ain’t ideal, but maybe ideal ain’t what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Then what is it you’re looking for?” Hanzo rebutted, almost immediately.

Jesse pondered on that. “Somewhere outta the way. Somewhere no one can find me.”

 _“I_ found you.”

It embarrassed Jesse the way those words unsettled his stomach – had his heart thumping just a little faster than it should be, because he knew those words weren’t sentimental. His fingers combed back through his gradually drying hair.

“Yeah. Y’did.”

Finally, Jesse was slipping on his boots and heading for the front door, where his satchel lay just beside Hanzo’s feet. He tossed the strap over his good shoulder and took the first step outside of his room in what felt like months. The morning sun pleasantly beat down on his freshly-shaven face, and he let himself revel in it, eyes closed softly while Hanzo followed him wordlessly out of the door. His chest expanded with one deep breath and his usual smile returned to his face. Jesse wasn’t made for living alone, cooped up like a hermit with a bottle of whiskey and the regret of a million mistakes he’d made throughout his life – he felt so much more alive with someone else beside him. Even if he wasn’t sure they liked him all too much.

He cracked an eye open and directed a sidelong glance at Hanzo, who appeared to be contemplating their walk down the open dusty road.

“Ya gonna look a bit conspicuous headin’ into town with that on ya face,” Jesse gestured to the bandanna concealing his mouth.

“I do not intend on being seen.”

Jesse looked perplexed, brows creased in the middle when he turned fully to face him. “Then what the hell’re you gonna be doin’?”

“I will watch,” Hanzo declared dryly, offering no further explanation. Jesse puzzled together a hypothesis – a toothy grin finding its way onto his face when he finally understood.

“You gonna be testin’ me?” He said, trying not to sound too giddy.

“I will see if you are truly capable.”

He liked the sound of that.

-

Jesse was tasked firstly with obtaining 3 wallets, which he promptly scoffed at, because according to him, _‘you pullin’ my leg? That’s child’s play!’_

So Jesse fooled around. Once he slipped into his groove, he was plucking them from bags and pockets like he was taking cakes from a bakery. A few times he even opened them up, removed the money, and tossed them back where he’d found them. He had no use for the wallet itself, after all.

Whenever he would hazard a glance at Hanzo, just out of eyeshot, he’d pray that he was having half as much fun watching as Jesse was having partaking, because he was _trying_ to show him a good time. He wished he’d come down here and join him, but that wasn’t going to happen.

Jesse perused the bustling stalls of the high-street, stopping in his tracks when he inhaled the sweet, intoxicating scent of roast pork that made the void in his stomach ache a mile wide, and he wondered if Hanzo felt the same.

He made his purchase (with the misappropriated money) and ducked down some back-alleys until he arrived at the back of the building Hanzo had nested upon, and where he quickly dropped down beside him. _Like a cat,_ Jesse mused.

“I’m starvin’,” he groaned, face already stuffed with a mouthful of pork bun, but he talked through it regardless – much to Hanzo’s displeasure. “Got one f’you if y’hungry. Not sure if y’like pork or not, but I had to get ya _somethin’._ ”

Hanzo took the offering from his hand and inspected it like he wasn’t wholly sure whether it was edible or not, but not a few moments later he was edging up his bandanna and biting out a neat chunk. Jesse dipped a little lower to try and catch a glimpse of him.

“C’mon, now.” Jesse sighed, laughter bubbling up inside of him, astonished. “Jus’ eat it like normal, will ya? _Christ,_ yer a weird one.”

He could tell by the creases beneath his eyes and the sharp angle of his brow that Hanzo was not pleased with Jesse passing judgements, but he kept laughing. And Hanzo kept eating. Every time he took another bite it tickled Jesse just a bit more until he had to turn his back to him in order to calm himself.

 _“You_ are in no position to judge the way I eat when you yourself eat like a _starved pig.”_ Hanzo commented spitefully. It didn’t faze Jesse, though. It just made him laugh more.

“I don’t mean to offend ya,” he snickered, turning back to face him and pat him lightly on the shoulder, “I ain’t seen nobody eat like that before. Looks like the silliest thing. Y’killing me, Han.”

Hanzo bristled, shrugging Jesse’s hand from his shoulder. “My name is _Hanzo_.”

Jesse smiled and continued to eat. Hanzo’s features softened, just for a moment, and then he snagged a finger behind his bandanna and pulled it down a touch beneath his mouth.

And _hooooooly shit._

Jesse was unprepared. He haphazardly swallowed the remainder of the food in his mouth, wincing at the amount that sank down his throat and his eyes felt like they had grown a few sizes too big for his head.

Jesse thought it could’ve been the loneliness talking, but _boy,_ if Hanzo didn’t have the prettiest face he’d ever seen – and that wasn’t even an exaggeration.

He took in the tiniest peek of Hanzo’s neatly trimmed beard and the line of his lips, the way they pursed around his food, which, he noticed, he ate with much more grace than Jesse ever could.

His heart stuttered, and he fumbled for a witty one-liner.

“Well now,” he began sheepishly, still fixated on Hanzo’s lips, “ain’t that better?”

Hanzo barely rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to give Jesse the satisfaction of an answer.

But Jesse was already more than satisfied. He felt like he could look at that face all day.

“You a model or somethin’? S’that why y’hide yer face?”

Hanzo shot him an incredulous look and swallowed his mouthful before speaking.

_“No.”_

“You could’a fooled me!” Jesse cooed, his fond smile and look of awe still apparent. “Y’look like a movie star.”

Hanzo was perplexed, studying Jesse – staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. He didn’t look embarrassed, that much was certain. He looked like he didn’t understand what Jesse was saying, or rather, _why_ he was saying it.

“Do not try to flatter me.” Hanzo growled, his eyes piercing into Jesse’s as if to challenge him.

Jesse raised his eyebrows. “Looks like someone ain’t so good at receivin’ compliments.”

“I am not so naïve as to let your ridiculous flattery persuade me.”

Jesse folded his arms. “Persuade you t’do _what,_ exactly?”

Hanzo’s expression warped further and further into a confused, almost panicked mess and he opened his mouth to speak, but it was closed hastily. He rapidly succumbed to his own discomfort and pulled the bandanna back up over his mouth and nose again. Jesse whimpered slightly at the loss.

“You are trying to convince me to join you.”

There was a quiet moment between them before Jesse disrupted it with a loud snort, shaking his head. He screwed up the paper wrapping of the bun and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Y’really think I’d call y’attractive to get ya t’partner up with me? Oh, _darlin’_ ,” Jesse uttered, raising his eyebrow suggestively and flashing him one of his most charming smiles, _“I got plenty more than jus’ a clever mouth to impress ya.”_

Jesse was feeling pretty proud of himself. He swore he spotted something in Hanzo’s confounded expression that was much closer to what he was hoping for, but whatever sparked had been swiftly extinguished by the other’s incredible self-control. And then he spoke, completely unforeseeably, a few words that lit a fire of Jesse’s own.

“Then show it to me.” Hanzo purred, “Prove it to me, _cowboy._ ”

That had Jesse burning up under his collar and, for what felt like the first time in his life, he was actually at a loss for words, but his enthusiastic grin refused to leave his cheeks.

“Tell me what y’want me to do. No matter how tough, I’ll do it.”

Hanzo contemplated. “I want you to stop acting like an imbecile.”

“Aaw,” Jesse visibly deflated, “not s’sure I know how to do that one.”

He thought he saw the tell-tale lines of a smile form beneath Hanzo’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure with that frustrating bandanna obscuring his face again. He really hoped he’d gotten him to smile. That would have made his day.

-

Overhead the sun shimmered against an immaculate skyscape of blue, only occasionally tarnished by the contrails of a far-off aircraft and ephemeral puffs of cloud. The chatter of the crowd was ceaseless but not overwhelming, and the smells that drifted from the open-front stalls of the hot food purveyors made Jesse hungry all over again. He had a very persistent grin fastened onto his face that he just couldn’t seem to shake, because every time he thought about Hanzo up there skulking on the rooftops or standing at his side it made him feel just that little bit safer – which was something Jesse hadn’t felt in years. _Selfish,_ Jesse mused to himself bitterly, since he truly had no idea whether Hanzo was better off with or without him. Jesse quashed those afflicting thoughts in the meantime as they trekked back down the final stretch of road back to his motel.

He felt the strangest sensation, like a hollow growing in the pit of his stomach, the closer they got to the motel door and he couldn’t overlook it. Jesse was blindingly aware that the moment he reached his room he was going to be alone again, and he didn’t know if Hanzo was going to come back. He was scarcely aware when his smile vacated and remained deep in all-consuming thought, until he realised the soft crushing of dirt beneath Hanzo’s feet beside him had come to a halt. He snapped himself around to find him standing stock still, icy gaze directed to the distant vision of Jesse’s door.

Now it was Jesse’s turn to freeze.

Not only was the door separate from the building, it was lay a few paces from the entrance, snapped and splintered as if whomever had torn it from its rusted hinges had done so with great force. Jesse’s blood ran cold and he dipped a hand beneath his belt to fetch Peacekeeper, but the images the scene before him conjured in his mind were a ghastly mix of nightmare and reality. It knocked him slightly off balance – the man in the mask from his dream, and the haunting face of the ghost from his past that he knew so well mixed together into one single phantom, and he knew they were one and the same.

He felt bile creeping up his sternum and he removed the safety from his gun.

Hanzo’s hand clutched his shoulder and Jesse exhaled a sharp, stifled breath – he became aware of how tense he was, and hazarded a glance back at the other man, who was looking oddly pensive.

“Calm yourself.” Hanzo breathed, releasing his hold and drawing Storm Bow from his back.

“Hanzo,” he croaked, surprised by the sound of his own voice tight in his throat, “there’s only one person crazy enough t’come all the way out here lookin’ f’me, and if he’s in there I ain’t got no reason to be calm.”

Hanzo pushed past him regardless and silently approached the motel, much to Jesse’s disdain. Jesse reached for him to haul him back, but was shrugged away forthwith.

“I ain’t messin’,” he whined, “don’t go in there. Fuck the motel – fuck all my shit, I don’t need it.”

“No one has bested me yet. And no one is about to.”

“Y’don’t know that!” Jesse hushed himself, his voice a becoming a distinctly sharp whisper. “We run, an’ I’ll hole up somewhere else.”

Hanzo growled and steadied his aim at the doorway. _“Be silent.”_

It was unusually quiet around them – like the insects and the birds and the wind itself had all but abandoned them in an attempt to escape the fast approaching carnage.

A jarring clatter from within his room shattered the short-lived peace and Jesse raised his gun again. He saw a hunched black mass bolt through the doorway and Hanzo drew back his arrow, but the action was cut short when Jesse grabbed him and jolted him back.

The coyote darted away into the bush with a shredded black and navy blue serape seized between its teeth, and Hanzo hissed an indignant breath through his own. Jesse was overcome with relief.

“ _Christ_ , that had me goin’,” he groaned, dabbing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his equally clammy arm.

Hanzo continued onwards warily to the room, bow still raised as he got his first glimpse inside. Jesse saw his expression change, but it still remained unreadable. Hanzo edged into the room, and Jesse followed suit.

“Shit,” Jesse murmured, just barely able to see beyond Hanzo. His room was torn apart in the very literal sense. Cotton was strewn around the room, ripped from his bed sheets and pillows, and the curtains had been pulled from their rails. His furniture had been destroyed. Pieces of fractured wood and fragments of cloth were scattered across the floor, and his food had been pulled from the fridge and now bespattered the walls. Jesse didn’t really know what to say.

“It doesn’t appear as if they were looking for something,” Hanzo suggested, tone lowering when he cited Jesse’s hat on the wall, “It seems to be a threat.”

Jesse felt anxious as he accounted for all of his possessions, each damaged in one way or another. The intentions were clear.

Hanzo approached the wall across from (what was left of) Jesse’s bed, scrutinising the pocket knife driven through the brim of Jesse’s hat. Hanzo spared a glance at Jesse, who was standing beside him, expression hard as if he were just barely keeping his composure.

Jesse gripped the handle of the knife and tore it from his hat, only to cleave it straight back into the wall beside where it had been prior.

A jagged message was carved deep and menacing into the flaking drywall.

_“DEAD MAN WALKING”._

“Someone is after your head.” Hanzo spoke gravely, turning to face Jesse completely in order to observe him in his silence.

The thief grimaced as his eyes traced those serrated words over, and over, and over again.

“He ain’t talkin’ about me.” He amended, “He’s talkin’ ‘bout himself.”

There was a heavy atmosphere around the two of them, thick with tension, and a thousand unspoken questions that Hanzo wanted to ask, but didn’t. Jesse looked back at him, distressed, as if he wanted to disclose something about this but just couldn’t bring himself to. There was so much Jesse wished Hanzo understood about him and his past – but they both had their fair share of hardships, Jesse was sure. That was why they were in this situation. That was why they were standing together, both deeply uncomfortable about the scene unfolding before them, because they’d only met just a few days before. How was Hanzo supposed to comfort the shallow portrayal of a man when he’d never truly seen the person beneath the mask?

It was awkward, and it upset Jesse. Right now, more than anything, he wished he’d met Hanzo sooner. Then maybe he’d have been able to call him his friend.

He supposed he had to suck it up.

“Guess I won’t be stayin’ here no more,” he mumbled, leaning down to retrieve his hat from atop of the ruins of his dresser. He held it close to his chest as if to try and soothe the ache within.

Hanzo looked divided, seeing a new side of Jesse that he’d hadn’t wanted to acknowledge existed more than a few days ago. He was foolish to believe that this man was an ideal version of himself, dressed up in stereotypical bandit garb and overflowing with boundless morale and saccharine charm. Jesse was just as tired and as flawed as he was himself.

Hanzo slipped Storm Bow back over his shoulder and made his way out of the room, tiptoeing around the chaos as best as he could. Jesse remained where he was though, staring morosely at those three deeply foreboding words.

“You will stay with me tonight,” Hanzo said placidly with his back turned to face him. “We shall leave in the morning, and find somewhere new.”

Jesse gawked at him, not wholly believing his ears. He felt an unfamiliar rush of elation electrify him, and he briefly forgot about the calamity that surrounded him, and the ghost that followed.

He grinned, at ease, and tumbled over the wreckage to stand at Hanzo’s side. “Which side of the bed am I sleepin’ on?”

Hanzo simply sighed and folded his arms.

Jesse gathered up whatever was salvageable from the remains of his room, and left strangely, considering the circumstances, with a smile on his face.

For Jesse, there was absolutely no telling what went on in Hanzo’s head. He truly didn’t know Hanzo at all – that much was apparent.

But he very sincerely wanted to.


	3. Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been a little bit busy, but I've finally managed to get this chapter done!  
> It's pretty domestic, so don't expect blood and suffering this time (￣ω￣;)  
> Enjoy!

The sun’s rays ebbed low on the horizon, painting the heavens with an amalgam of lavender and rose, but thick ashen clouds were beginning to roll in and disrupt the sky’s perfect amenity – Hanzo could only take this as a forewarning of what was yet to come. The streets were almost entirely clear of pedestrians, he observed, and wondered if a storm had been forecast. He walked a few steps ahead of Jesse, leading him down the path he always took on his way back to his hotel. The word ‘unfortunate’ traversed his thoughts whenever they returned to the man trudging behind him, satchel gorged with whatever scraps of his home he was able to reclaim, which, sadly, wasn’t a lot. Jesse wouldn’t show that it upset him, however, although it was very obvious that it did. In the moments that they shared a glance, the exhausted man with the tousled brown hair garnered the cheeriest of smiles and hoisted the bag higher on his sagging shoulder. Hanzo wasn’t the type to offer comforting words, which was why in their stead he’d offered him a place to rest. Lending a solution to Jesse’s problem made more sense to him than contriving a few kind words.

They had stopped infrequently on their way to the hotel, purchasing a few things for Jesse with the same misappropriated money they’d acquired not a few hours before – only to substitute the basics, of which Jesse no longer had any. Clothes and products in relation to hygiene were high on the list besides food for the evening ahead, although Jesse had bickered, claiming that all he needed were the clothes on his back. Hanzo contended; he refused to humour the idea of having to share his underwear and toothbrush.

Hanzo was especially wary of being followed, so they stayed out of sight whenever they were able to and only walked the main roads when it was absolutely necessary. The bowman saw the hotel up ahead and pre-emptively pulled his door key from his pocket, drawing Jesse’s attention and prompting him to stare in reverence at the impressively tall building before them.

“You been livin’ _here?”_ the man asked, disbelief tinging his voice, “looks real fancy.”

Jesse let out an incredulous whistle. The closer they got, the more questions sprang to mind about who Hanzo was, where he was from, and how he had that kind of money.

“Your daddy pay for that?” he said in jest, but Hanzo, as always, responded in earnest.

“My father has been dead for seven years.”

Jesse bit his lip. _Oops._ “Sorry t’hear that.”

“Do not apologise,” Hanzo stated, closing his fingers around the handle of the door, “he was not a good man.”

“Are _we_ good men?” Jesse wondered aloud. Hanzo appeared to take a few seconds to ponder on that himself.

“That is dependent upon whom is passing judgement.”

They entered the hotel lobby and Hanzo wasted no time in heading for the stairs, thankful that there weren’t any members of staff present to press him on the hotel’s regulations regarding inviting guests into his room. They climbed until the third floor where Hanzo exited the stairwell and stopped at the door very clearly marked “31”.

Jesse was completely awestruck by the décor when they finally entered Hanzo’s room. The walls were painted white with thick stripes of duck-egg blue and were lined with pure white skirting – the carpet was a deep turquoise and he could already tell how plush it was beneath the soles of his shoes. White sconce light fixtures accented with gold were installed on one of the far walls of the room above the head of Hanzo’s bed, which was, _of course,_ an ivory-quilted king size, and just looking at it made Jesse want to dive in head-first.

Aside from the interior design, there was one more thing Jesse believed prominent about Hanzo’s room – the smell. The scent was a pleasant blend of freshly washed cotton, singed cinnamon and sandalwood incense, and it had Jesse inhaling deep, sweet breaths of it from the moment he stepped inside. His eyes fluttered closed and he immersed himself in it. Hanzo spared him a concerned glance, but dismissed his absurdity and crossed the room, placing his groceries on the countertop beside the many stacked boxes of tea. There was a soundless moment or two before Jesse brought himself back into the present, and he shifted his bag from his shoulder and set it down in the entryway, shortly followed by his boots in hopes of avoiding making a mess of Hanzo’s fancy carpet. Jesse had never stayed anywhere so nice before, and he owed it to Hanzo for taking him in. He was going to make sure he treated him with the utmost respect.

“How’d you afford a nice place like this?” Jesse queried, unable to stop his hands from roaming the smooth, clean fabric of the bedsheets when he neared them. Hanzo flicked the switch of the kettle and began to prepare some tea.

“It is only a two star hotel,” he stated dryly. “I can afford this much.”

That earned a snort from Jesse, “gee, only _two stars?”_ Hanzo didn’t look impressed by the sass he was receiving. “Nah, I’m messin’, y’know how I been livin’. I ain’t exactly the type to kick up a fuss if the room ain’t meetin’ my standards. Not that anyone was still runnin’ the place I was stayin’ anyway.”

Jesse didn’t want to keep running his mouth, but there was still so much he wanted to know about Hanzo. He supposed that probing just a little wouldn’t hurt too much.

“You been here very long?”

“No more than three weeks.”

“Where were ya before?”

Hanzo looked contemplative. He slipped the gloves from his hands fluidly and placed them neatly on the dresser. “My home.”

Jesse absentmindedly stroked the silky fabric between his fingertips, “S’that some place round here?”

“No,” he affirmed, and mindfully chose not to disclose any further information.  

Jesse accepted Hanzo’s terse answer, deciding instead to change topics. “Mind if I take a look at y’bathroom?”

Hanzo gestured a hand to the door and returned to tending to their tea, to which Jesse pushed back the door with child-like wonder, and tried his best not to gush. “This sure is somethin’,” he cooed, taking in everything from the fresh piled towels to the mottled glass of the shower, drumming his fingers along the lip of the wash basin. “I don’t remember the las’ time I clearly saw m’self in a mirror.” He tilted his chin upwards, angling his head to get a coherent look at every line of his face, “…I almos’ wish I hadn’t checked.”

He could have sworn he heard a muffled laugh from the bedroom which evoked the sudden fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. A bashful smile crept to his lips, and he peered back around the corner. Hanzo stood as stoic as ever, pouring the steaming water into each cup.

When Hanzo peered back at him over his shoulder, he could see the obvious look of contempt Jesse was giving his bandanna.

“D’ya sleep with that thing on?”

Hanzo brushed off his cheeky remark, “Not ordinarily, but as you are here tonight, I will consider it.”

Jesse huffed a little faux-sulk, folding his arms across his chest. Hanzo wasn’t smiling, but he could tell it had been said in jest. “Yer so _cruel_ to me, darlin’.”

“I am not your _darling_ ,” Hanzo grumbled in dismay. “Stop using those terrible pet-names.”

Jesse beamed, feeling an onslaught of giggles bubbling from within him, “y’don’t wanna be my sugar-pie?”

Hanzo appeared abashed, “I don’t know what that is.”

“My sweet-pea?”

“Do not refer to me as _food.”_

“Angel face?”

“They are all terrible.”

Jesse’s shoulders trembled with repressed laughter and he grazed a hand over his face before carding it through his hair.

A snort escaped him, “Jus’ pullin’ yer leg. I can’t help m’self. You’re jus’ too fun t’mess with.”

Hanzo offered him a razor-sharp squint _._ Lifting one of the cups from the placemat, he handed it to Jesse, who cheerfully accepted it. He raised the warm and unusually shaped tea-cup to his nose and gave it a tentative sniff, proceeded by a couple of gentle blows in hopes of cooling it before it reached his lips. In scent and taste it was somewhat nutty – not unpleasant to Jesse’s senses, but rather unexpected. He rolled his tongue around his mouth after he’d drained the cup, considering the after-taste and the slight singe of his taste-buds.

“It is Hojicha,” Hanzo hummed, patiently waiting for his tea to cool, “a roasted green tea.”

“I ain’t much of a tea-drinker m’self,” Jesse set the empty cup aside and leaned back against the wall, “it ain’t bad, though.”

Hanzo sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away from Jesse, observing the view beyond the window. Those dark, melancholy clouds seemed to roll on forever, approaching in a shadowy swarm that concealed the sky and overcast the city below. His room had become significantly darker since they entered, but Hanzo appeared contented to remain without light for a few peaceful moments more. He slipped down the material of his bandanna and took a smooth sip of his tea.

He decidedly disturbed the peace himself.

“Are you afraid of the man that hunts you?”

Jesse felt his mood capsize and sink miles below the floor – he’d been avoiding it, he knew, and so did Hanzo. His cheerful jibes and witty banter did little to veil the distinctly deep-rooted anxiety that was cultivating within him. He sensed that nausea was imminent.

“I’d be lyin’ if I said no,” he uttered, volume low, “he’s one scary son’bitch.”

Hanzo remained fixated on the window, “is he someone you know well?”

There was a considerably loud swallow that emanated from Jesse’s throat, “he was my boss,” he murmured, but abruptly corrected, “leader of the gang I was in.”

“When did you leave?” Hanzo inquired.

“’Round 13 years ago.”

That actually had Hanzo turning to face him. Jesse could read that expression clearly – _this man was still chasing you, after all this time?_ He’d probably figured out that Jesse must have committed quite the transgression to scorn his boss in such a way. Before Hanzo could open his mouth, Jesse was already cutting him short.

“I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it no more,” he snapped, evidently uncomfortable by the way his fingers worried the hem of his shirt, “it’s all been an’ done.”

“Evidently not, or he would not still be pursuing you.”

“I been tryin’ to _forget,”_ Jesse whined, “he ain’t supposed to be alive. I been out here thinkin’ he’s long dead f’near half my damn life.”

Hanzo let the cup rest on his lap. It was unfortunately clear that Jesse was suppressing some considerable trauma, and so he seemed to choose not to persist. He was cold, but he wasn’t malicious.

“If he is as formidable as you believe him to be, we will need to be more cautious from now on.”

Jesse looked slightly relieved to have avoided dredging up the aberrations of his past. He forced out a heavy sigh, “If he’s much like he was back then, he ain’t someone you wanna tussle with.”

Hanzo frowned and glanced back up to Jesse’s pitiful, wounded expression.

“We will deal with it when the time comes,” he breathed, standing himself and placing his cup on the countertop, “I do not fear him.” Jesse almost contested, but Hanzo spoke once more, “I am going to shower. Entertain yourself.”

Hanzo stepped past him into the bathroom, and closed the door gently behind himself. It was almost as if seeing Jesse like that unsettled him.

 

-

 

He exited the bathroom after a good 25 minutes – he’d washed his hair, trimmed his beard, but spent the majority of his time in there assessing their current situation. How much money did they have currently, and was it enough to get a train ticket for a few towns over? They needed to move swiftly, as they’d likely be unable to dawdle in the hotel for more than just this evening. The town was small, and Jesse wasn’t the most discreet of people. What would they do when they arrived? And where would they stay?

Hanzo towelled himself off and wrapped it around his waist, tucking it in at his hip. He faltered when he placed his hand on the door handle.

Knowing that Jesse was out there, he began to feel slightly self-conscious. He was by no means a shy man, but the way the other fussed whenever he got a good look at him made him feel a little bit uncomfortable. But nevertheless – Hanzo was a proud man, and he wouldn’t let Jesse McCree get in the way of his usual routine. He opened the door and was greeted immediately by the man in question, sitting on the floor silently eating his convenience-store dinner.

Of course, when their eyes connected he ceased chewing, but continued to stare. His cheeks were stuffed full, like a hamster’s, Hanzo thought, and he was gawking as if he didn’t expect Hanzo to shower naked.

He felt Jesse’s eyes burning holes into his skin, and he was suddenly feeling very exposed. It was ridiculous, he thought; he’d worn less in the onsen back in Hanamura and felt no shame in the slightest. It was the way Jesse acted as if he were something special to look at that embarrassed him so much. He refused to let it show on his face, though.

“Look at those tattoos,” Jesse beamed, “they sure are beautiful.”

Hanzo had almost forgotten about the ink on his skin since it had been there for such a large portion of his life. He cringed at the other man’s wording, but accepted it nonetheless, “call them what you must.”

Jesse leaned in a touch closer to examine the dragon that snaked up his arm in a flurry of deep blue ink and gold – truly awestruck, staring up at him with starry eyes. “They suit ya.”

Hanzo was doing his best. He really was – but all the niceties were so _exhausting_. He wasn’t used to such seemingly sincere pandering and it was far too sickly sweet for someone so sober like himself. He didn’t retort.

“You a Yakuza guy then?”

Jesse didn’t appear alarmed by the idea of him being connected to the Yakuza. It was clear that Jesse was closely familiar with the types of unsavoury deeds that they committed – he had likely committed the same himself. Hanzo kept a firm hold on the fold of his towel.

 _“Formerly,”_ he corrected. Jesse barely managed a nod, but was clearly preoccupied. Hanzo wasn’t sure Jesse had even heard him, actually. Hanzo wanted to chide him, but he could foresee the futility in lecturing a man that seemed unable to focus on two things at once.

He paced across to the opposite side of the room and removed his clothes gently from the dresser – they were neatly folded, creaseless and clean, and he placed them down on the edge of the bed, still sorely aware of Jesse’s gaze fixed firmly upon his body. Hanzo thought, in that moment, that Jesse must have been a very lonely man to be looking at _him_ like this. He tried to distract Jesse from his body with their plans for the day ahead.

“Tomorrow, we shall take the train to Crookshead,” he murmured, turning from the thief to maintain his modesty as he slipped a white tank over his head and shoulders, “travelling through Stormhollow and Steelreach,” his towel was cast to the floor, and he clothed himself forthwith, “where we will find somewhere to stay. We will catch the earliest train to avoid being seen by too many people.”

Hanzo turned back to face Jesse, finally clothed, only to find his gaze still unshaken. The only notable difference was the intense burn that blotched his cheeks, ears and neck – but Jesse’s stare was snapped away not long after being caught, his reflexes leaving much to be desired. Hanzo could have scoffed at the notion that Jesse’s fantastic reaction-time was only compromised by the sight of another man’s naked body – but he settled for raising an eyebrow instead.

“I will ascertain the costs,” he declared in-between slipping his shoes back onto his feet, “I shall not be gone long.”

Hanzo reached the door, not a single word uttered between them amidst the rigid silence, and made the short trip down to the hotel lobby, tying back his still saturated hair along the way.

 

-

 

Jesse was infatuated by the hotel carpet, no longer having the stomach to finish his food. He scraped a hand over the back of his neck as if to soothe the goosebumps that prickled the searing flesh. The distinct thud of his heartbeat was ringing in his ears and his stomach churned backflips, mostly out of embarrassment, but it was unmistakably the result of something far more _indecent._ He gathered himself, but his thoughts ran a mile a minute, a constant surge of something along the lines of ‘god _damn’._

He couldn’t quite recall how long it had been since he’d been privy to seeing a body other than his own, and he especially couldn’t recall a time when he’d been confronted with it so abruptly. He gnawed the inside of his cheek, pushing his ousted food aside.

The vivid recollection continued to beset him. He could still see the rivulets slithering down the blades of his shoulders, like a mimicry of the feral dragon that coiled the taut muscle of Hanzo’s arm – and the way his sodden hair that was so often tied back skirted the nape of his neck, hovered just above his shoulders had Jesse’s mouth running dry. He dared not recall any lower than that, or he’d surely find himself in a situation far less than adequate.

“Aw, _hell,”_ he breathed, not quite able to come to terms with himself. He knew it, now that he was blindingly aware of it, he was besotted – painfully, suddenly very attracted to the man who’d only shown him an inkling of kindness; kindness, and a distinctly perfect backside. He could’ve kicked himself. Blame could only be placed upon Jesse’s infernal desperation in the binds of his self-inflicted loneliness, and he knew that it was to be completely fruitless. Hanzo was unaffected, disinterested and unobtainable. He would surely kick Jesse’s ass to the curb if he so much as pushed his luck. Now, he was just overwhelmingly exhausted. Tired of the predicament he was getting himself into.

All he had to do was keep his eyes and hands to himself, and think a little harder before he spoke – otherwise he’d find himself down a comrade before he was sure he’d even gained one.

Considering Hanzo had intended to return swiftly, Jesse couldn’t help but worry when he still hadn’t returned after two hours. He switched on the TV as an idle distraction, but that was hopeless, too. The thought of his boss’ ghost catching and gunning him down seldom left his mind, and was only sated when Hanzo set foot through the hotel room door, unscathed and as self-assured as ever. Jesse alleviated himself with a heavy sigh, the tension dissipating in his chest.

 _“Christ,_ Hanzo, _’won’t be gone long’_ my ass! Had me thinkin’ you’d gotten yerself snatched up or somethin’.”

Hanzo appeared unabashed by Jesse’s scolding, slipping his shoes off at the door, “I purchased our tickets in advance, for convenience. We will catch the 06:09 and arrive at 10:28.”

“You bought ‘em? How much do I owe ya?”

Hanzo passed him by to lift Storm Bow up from beside his bed, “that is not necessary.” It appeared to occur to him after he’d registered the blue hazy glow of the TV in the darkness that Jesse had likely been sitting in without the light on for the past two hours. He switched them on himself and saw Jesse’s tired eyes flinch as they adjusted to the incandescent yellow-white light.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Jesse began, squinting as his eyes adjusted, “I got money. You saw me make it m’self.”

 _“Do not pester me further.”_ Hanzo rumbled as he slipped a duffel bag out from beneath the bed and began to pack his things. Jesse winced a little at that. He hoped he hadn’t pissed him off. His fingers drummed the tops of his thighs nervously.

“Alright,” he muttered, “well, thank ya. Mighty nice of ya to pay in my stead.” Hanzo just hummed and continued to pack.

Jesse was a little at a loss for what to do with himself; he didn’t have anything to pack like Hanzo – no clothes or cups or _tea_ , all Jesse had was already in the contents of his satchel, and that almost saddened him. Still, Jesse was too tired to be upset over today’s theatrics any longer, stretching back and howling a low, strained yawn that drew Hanzo’s attention.

“You may sleep if you wish.” Hanzo commented, idly zipping up one of the many pockets of the large black bag.

Jesse couldn’t deny it – that was exactly what he wanted to do. Maybe it was sitting in the dark that got him – he was usually a bit of a night owl. He rubbed his eyes absent-mindedly and glanced over to the chair in the corner.

“Y’got a blanket I can take for the night?” Jesse asked, standing himself upright and hearing his joints pop in the process. Hanzo didn’t spare him a glance.

“You do not need _another_ blanket. One is enough.”

Jesse eyed him skeptically before coming quickly to the realisation that he was permitting him to share his bed. A small smile tickled his lips and he laughed, taking another look at those sinfully inviting crisp white sheets.

“I ain’t ever slept in a bed so nice,” he sang, full of childlike excitement, “promise I won’t snore or nothin’.” Hanzo didn’t smile, but he puffed out a soft breath of air through his nostrils, which Jesse could only assume meant that it had _almost_ amused him.

Jesse took to removing his shirt and bulky leather belt, but kept his trousers secure at his hips – this was his first step in the direction of making Hanzo’s comfort a priority, and not getting the shit kicked out of him for doing anything presumptuous. He flipped back the thick duvet and tentatively seated himself on the mattress, bouncing lightly, just to test the springs. The horrors of his past almost seemed fictional when his head finally hit the pillow – but in their silence Jesse was alone with his mind, and he suddenly had to process the fact that _Gabriel Reyes was still alive._ He shivered, rolling over beneath the sheets to fold himself away from Hanzo, who was still kneeling on the floor. Cold sweat broke out on Jesse’s exposed skin and then the nausea swept over him once again, as it always did when his mind lingered for too long on Gabriel. Then he heard the shuffle of Hanzo’s feet on the lavish carpet, the flick of the light switch and Hanzo sank into bed beside him. The bed was big enough to allow for an ample gap between the two of them and Jesse was thankful in that moment to have plenty of his own space.

He gritted his teeth, and to avoid letting the nausea overcome him, he settled for allowing his usual evasive nonsense to pour from his lips.

“I ain’t slept next to no one in years,” he laughed, slightly hoarsely, “an’ as a matter of fact, last time I did, woke up in the mornin’ to find m’wallet been ransacked and with not s’much as a kiss goodbye.”

Hanzo was silent for a moment, until the contention finally left him, “this is not…intimate. It is mere practicality.”

 _Don’t I know it,_ Jesse thought, almost bitterly, but soon set himself straight, “not in the mood t’snuggle?”

Hanzo offered him unimpressed silence in response.

“I’m jus’ messin’ again.”

“You say these things when you are nervous. You fill the void with words.”

Jesse rolled onto his back and craned his neck to look at him – he’d have looked more offended if he wasn’t able to see Hanzo’s immaculate features glowing in the yellow light of the streetlamp, but seeing him lay there diffused anything defensive that was about to leave his mouth, “that so?”

Hanzo was very visibly tired, now that Jesse was able to get a good look at him, but as well as that, he couldn’t help but think _wow, wasn’t he just so beautiful?_ Jesse allowed a gentle smile to form upon his lips and felt his pulse quicken when Hanzo closed his eyes, seemingly succumbing to sleep. Jesse made himself comfortable again, closing his eyes, too.

Hanzo murmured, low, exhausted, “you tend to remind me of the one I am searching for.”

Jesse’s eyes were open once again. Initially, it shocked him that Hanzo was speaking so openly, in his own introverted sort of way, but then the information he’d just been entrusted with had his mind reeling. Who was he searching for? Was it for vengeance? Love? Did Hanzo even _want_ Jesse to inquire further? He took his time to reply, thoughtfully selecting what was truly the right thing to say.

“S’that right?” he spoke, deciding ultimately to keep it light-hearted. Hanzo would divulge information if and when he wanted to. “They handsome like me?”

Jesse almost missed it, but in the mellow low-light of the city creeping in through the window beside the bed, he was blessed with one of Hanzo’s rare smiles, and was met with only one word from his lips.

_“Foolish.”_

Jesse took it in his stride, and when the silence persisted, he found his consciousness slipping. He wasn’t sure then if Hanzo’s smile had been a dream – but if it had been, it’d been the nicest he’d had in a while.

 

-

 

But good things didn’t last forever – especially not for Jesse McCree. He woke again, for the second night running, frightened awake by the force of his own nightmare, although Hanzo beside him still had not stirred. For that he was thankful.

He slipped himself out from beneath the sheets with one smooth motion, careful not to make any sudden movements that might pull Hanzo from his sleep. Jesse’s fingers itched for a cigarillo, so after some discreet rooting through his satchel and very conscientiously prying the window open, he bared his body to the cool night air and lit the tip of his smoke. Despite the nightmare, and despite the fear that had rooted itself in the pit of his stomach, Jesse felt remarkably better than he had the day before when he woke up alone, alarmed – stuck in the hazy tear between dream and reality. He returned his attention to the man in the bed, dark, glossy hair slightly ruffled, but hands still neatly rested upon his stomach, just as they had been when he fell to sleep. Standing motionless, leaning over the window ledge, Jesse found himself abruptly overwhelmed with an intense sense of gratitude and an indescribable warmth blossoming in his chest. He continued puffing on his cigarillo, eyes downcast to the pavement below, when the distant click of heels roused the man behind him.

Hanzo jolted upright with an impressive swiftness for someone that had been asleep only seconds before – Jesse continued his listless observation of the city and all its shining lights, glowing like fireflies against the deep blue of the horizon and the clouds that concealed it. When he brought his smoke to his lips again, he heard a breath leave Hanzo’s lips and his shoulders relaxed. Jesse knew what had crossed his mind.

“Jus’ havin’ a smoke,” he mumbled around the tip, giving it a wiggle with his pursed lips, causing ash to cascade in one whistle of the crisp night breeze. Hanzo considered him at the window.

“A precarious way to stand over such a low ledge.”

Jesse turned to him, “I ain’t tryin’a off myself, if that’s what yer thinkin’.”

Hanzo furrowed his brow indignantly, glaring at Jesse’s scantily lit silhouette.

“Or maybe yer just feelin’ lonely in bed all by y’self?”

The bowman scowled and lay back down, rolling over to face the bathroom door. Jesse really couldn’t contain himself – he relished in teasing him, ruffling his so perfectly preened feathers. Jesse never thought himself to be a masochist, but when he was under scrutiny from that blistering stare he felt fire ignite in his belly and he just wanted _more._

He tossed the remainder of his cigarillo into the night and pulled the window shut with a light click, pressing his back against the chilled glass and sighing out the remainder of the smoke that filled his lungs. Tired brown eyes settled on the vague shape of Hanzo beneath the quilt and he chewed the skin of his lip. Distinctly, Jesse could hear in the back of his mind the promise he’d made to himself earlier – _keep your eyes and hands to yerself, Jesse. Think before y’speak. Don’t lose a friend before y’even made one._

But his chest grew tight. He ached to be soothed after the whiplash of his nightmare, but Hanzo wasn’t going to be the one to console him. _Console yer damn self,_ he thought, tone harsh within his head, and he made his way dejectedly back to his side of the bed.

When his soft chestnut hair met the cool fabric of the pillow, he lay face to perfect face with the archer, barely aware now of the ample gap between them. His sharp, angular cheekbone caught the light in the most mesmerising of ways, and his fingers itched to brush their tips through the silky fall of Hanzo’s hair. He wanted some kind of contact. Any form of connection that let Jesse know that Hanzo was real, and he wasn’t yielding to the undertow of years of isolation.

His heart ached with a constant thrum of anxiety and he pulled himself millimetres closer, movements deliberately sluggish, until he was just close enough to feel the warmth between them. Jesse was still beyond touching distance, but this was fine. It was all he needed to unwind.

Fatigued eyes traced the pattern of Hanzo’s labyrinthine tattoo. It was unlike any he’d seen before; Blackwatch members had tattoos, but none of them held a candle to this level of exquisite intricacy. It really was something to behold.

But when he tore away his focus, his eyes met with obsidian and an indecipherable stare that made no attempt to evade him. Jesse fumbled through his thoughts, and then words finally left his mouth.

“Jus’ keepin’ an eye on ya,” he quipped, holding the other’s gaze steadfast, “makin’ sure you ain’t gonna pop an arrow in me while I sleep.”

Hanzo scoffed, listlessly, as though he could slip back to sleep any moment, “if I wanted you dead I would not waste my arrows. You are full of openings. Your guard has been down since the day you were shot.”

Jesse couldn’t disagree. He knew that, too.

“Well then, maybe I just like you that much.”

Hanzo faltered, eyes downcast for only milliseconds before reconnecting with Jesse’s. There was a lengthy silence before he decidedly turned himself over and tucked the sheet up to his shoulders.

“How naïve,” he whispered, and Jesse agreed again. He resisted the urge to smile, but it was futile.

“Can’t argue with that one.”


	4. The Road That He Would Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I've been so busy, it's taken me a while to crank this one out...  
> Thank you to everyone that has commented on my previous chapters! It makes so so happy just to know people actually like reading this ;~;  
> I was just a tiny bit silly this chapter. Couldn't help myself.  
> Please enjoy! And if you do, feel to free leave me a comment! I'd love to hear from you!!  
> Thank you for the support!

His coffee was undeniably _terrible_. Hanzo had picked it up from the station café before they boarded the train to Crookshead, and while his expectations were considerably low, he was surprised to find that they could be lowered even further. He held it deftly in his lap as the dusty expanse outside the window passed by in a greyish blur, tributaries of rain running sideways across the glass and only the occasional crack of thunder stirring him from his thoughts.

Jesse McCree slept soundly across from him on the plush seats of the carriage booth. His arms were folded loosely across his broad chest and his head lolled against the glass, causing him to flinch awake every now and then when the train experienced a particularly sharp rattle on the rails. Hanzo watched him, concerned.

He’d awoken that morning to find Jesse pressed against the curve of his back – he could feel the tip of the man’s nose on the nape of his neck, arms lax between them, but touching him nonetheless. Jesse’s warm, slow breaths ghosted across his bare skin and he couldn’t help the unpleasant feeling that overcame him. It was much too close. The warmth of another person was so inexplicably _foreign,_ he found himself scrambling to widen the gap – of course, Jesse awoke soon after, looking up at him with those soft, sleepy eyes that for reasons unbeknownst to him, actually made him feel… _guilty._

His tender mumble of _morning, sugar_ also did nothing for the distressing feeling he felt deep within his gut, and so, with a grimace, Hanzo pulled on his clothes and closed himself off in the bathroom.

As a man bound by his duties, Hanzo had never been able to form a platonic relationship, let alone a romantic one. If he was being honest, he’d known for a long time now that he wasn’t capable of truly trusting anyone – both his head and heart wouldn’t allow it. So much of his life was spent strictly monitored. He’d have preferred being alone for the entirety of his life in comparison to the pain of love and loss – and his life had been undoubtedly one of ceaselessly losing those around him. Forming a bond was like creating a vulnerability, and Hanzo _had_ to be invulnerable. He would not partake in construction of his own weaknesses.

Seeing Jesse resting so serenely before him, Hanzo could tell by the dark circles beneath his eyes that he’d likely not slept much at all last night, which was understandable. Hanzo could probably take the gun from Jesse’s holster and he’d be none the wiser.

Jesse didn’t _seem_ like the kind of man that could do anything truly evil. He may have been a thief, but it was likely that this was simply a by-product of a rough upbringing. Hanzo couldn’t imagine he’d have joined a gang for fun. As odd as it sounded to say about someone that robs people for a living, he seemed honest, genuine even – evidently lonely, but he didn’t seem to _want_ to hurt anyone. Then again, how much of him did Hanzo really know? In retrospect, not a lot.

The perpetual itch of curiosity overcame Hanzo once again. _What did he do?_ Hanzo mused, his thumb idly stroking the brim of his cup. Hanzo pieced together what little information he had; Jesse was afraid of his boss, he’d been on the run for _thirteen years,_ and until now, he’d believed he was dead. He was coming for Jesse.

Had Jesse made an attempt on his life? Or rather, did Jesse believe he’d _killed_ him? He didn’t doubt that McCree was capable of it – that’s what he had a gun for, after all, but could it possibly have been in self-defence? Hanzo’s mind was racing a mile a minute, but he chose not to disturb him.

The waitress wheeling the refreshments cart would do that for him.

Jesse roused, disoriented, placing a hand over his eyes and rubbing harshly before he acknowledged the woman tapping on the dappled glass of the booth door. She let herself in, stepping in backwards and pulling the cart to follow.

“Anything to drink, gentlemen?” she chirped, adjusting herself to stand beside the cart and tinkered with the cups, pots and bottles.

Jesse blearily surveyed the man across from him – Hanzo raised his hand a few inches from his lap in order to dismiss her, but Jesse began to speak.

“I’ll take a coffee, if ya’d be s’kind,” he appeared slightly more vigilant now, focussed, head tilted and previously lax posture now something more self-assured. He smiled.

“Black?” she asked, already pouring his cup.

Jesse raised a hand to brush at the neat bristles upon his chin, giving her a look Hanzo had never seen him impart before, “nah, I ain’t one for sweet things – although, for you, I’d be more than happy t’make an exception.”

Hanzo watched Jesse rather than the dark-haired woman, covertly assessing his body language. Much to his dismay, Jesse was most definitely flirting with the wait staff in this _incredibly_ small box of a room with such small distance between the two of them – so little that the tips of their shoes almost touched. He could hear her fumbling with his coffee, clearly at a loss for what to say to him. Her ears were turning red.

“That will be, um,” she gingerly handed him the cup, “two fifty.”

Jesse patted himself down, hands fondling the folds of his pockets and reaching into the messy contents of his bag – Hanzo rolled his eyes, he knew what was coming.

“Oh, shoot, _darlin’,_ ” he sighed, and out came those ridiculous, soft, brown puppy-eyes, “think I done left my wallet back in my hotel room.”

The woman looked divided and glanced between him and the archer, likely hoping Hanzo would offer money of his own – but Jesse _had_ money, so Hanzo took to watching the rain on the window.

“Maybe I can pay you with _somethin’ else?”_

Hanzo furrowed his brow. He heard the shake in the woman’s voice when she managed to speak.

“No, no, that’s alright, sir,” she passed him his drink hurriedly and pushed the cart back into the hall, “it’s on the house.”

Jesse grinned, sinking back into his seat, “mighty sweet of ya. Thank ya kindly.”

Nursing his fresh, free coffee, he spared a glance at Hanzo, who was still pointedly looking away when the woman closed the door behind her. He could feel how smug he was from across the booth.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

Hanzo met his gaze, unimpressed and obviously agitated, _“No.”_

“Then what ya makin’ that face for? You ain’t jealous, are ya?”

A scoff. “Don’t be absurd. I have no interest in waiting staff.”

Jesse smiled slyly, leaning in just a touch closer, “what I meant was, _were you wantin’ me to flirt with you instead?”_

Hanzo stared him down, fierce dark eyes shooting daggers into Jesse’s own. Surely, his expression conveyed more than words ever could.

“I bet you fifty bucks I can make ya blush.” Jesse’s words were firm, and his gaze unshaken.

Hanzo folded his arms, mimicking Jesse’s position parallel. A bet Hanzo knew he could win – undoubtedly the easiest fifty dollars he’d ever make. He raised his chin, glowering down his nose at the scruffy thief. _So full of himself._

“You will lose.” Hanzo said with equal amounts of confidence.

“We’ll see about that.”

Jesse unfolded his arms and sat himself upright so that he was eye-level with the other man. He nursed his coffee quietly with the faintest of smirks for the next minute or so, until Hanzo faltered finally and shot him a wary look.

“Have you given up already?” he queried, eyes narrowing skeptically. Jesse raised an eyebrow and his grin only grew wider.

“I didn’t say I was gonna do it _now.”_

Hanzo prickled at his impertinence, a smugness of his own evident in his tone, “that is because you know you are not able to.”

“Oh yeah?” Jesse placed his half-full cup on the seat beside him and pulled himself to his feet, left hand pressing to the cold glass of the window to help him endure the gentle rocking of the train as he leaned in, the gap shrinking between them. His right hand ghosted along the material of Hanzo’s thigh, and had it not been for the sharp jolt of the carriage, Hanzo would have surely slapped the hand away himself. Instead, Jesse was sent flying forward at speed, face colliding with the wooden panelling of the booth’s wall with an abrupt grunt, the rest of him crashing into Hanzo with the same amount of force. Hanzo shoved back against Jesse’s stomach in an attempt to avoid being hit in the face himself, causing a pained groan to escape him.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Jesse garbled over the screech of the train against the tracks. He stumbled back with a considerably split lip, “shit, what in the hell was that?”

The train eventually came to a stop much further from their destination than they would have liked. It was possible that something was obstructing the track, or that there was a fault with the train – perhaps the weather had caused some unexpected problem that meant they could not continue any further. Hanzo pushed Jesse aside, trying to get a clear look out of the window, but the glass was pelted so heavily with rain that it was impossible to distinguish anything amongst the blotches of grey and dirt-brown. They’d been travelling for approximately 3 hours, meaning they should be somewhere near Crookshead by now. Roughly, they were only an hour from their destination, but the idea of having to exit the train during a storm and walk the rest of the way by foot was most definitely out of the question.

His ears perked at the commotion that began to emanate somewhere further into the carriage, and he hazarded a glance at Jesse – the thief grunted as he bled into the palm of his hand, and Hanzo couldn’t help but feel like the cut was just a taste of karma that Jesse deserved after teasing their waitress, and then going on to try and tease _him._ He had to resist the urge to laugh. Jesse’s hissing and fussing with his mouth almost got a smile out of him, but when he realised he’d never hear the end of it, Hanzo remained stone-faced and utterly unreadable.

As sudden as the stop of the train had been just moments before, raised voices erupted from outside their door and after the sharp shot of a pistol they soon became cries of panic. Hanzo _tsked_.

The archer hastily tore into his duffel bag, produced his bow and noted the tell-tale click of Jesse’s gun somewhere beside him, and when he looked up to meet his eyes, found them unusually intense. He was ready to fight.  

With a tilt of Jesse’s head, they soundlessly cracked open the door.

At the very front of the train beside the conductor’s door stood three men – a gun pointed to the driver’s head and another trained on the waitress Jesse had only just been sweet-talking. That poor woman was having a rollercoaster of a day. Hanzo pitied her. Another man wielding an axe held out a burlap sack and jostled it at the cart’s patrons, shoving them around a bit just for good measure. Hanzo made a face at Jesse – austere and resolute, and in turn, Jesse smiled back at him.

“Remember what I said ‘bout trouble bringin’ itself to me?” he whispered, smearing red against the back of his hand with a jovial grin to stop the trickle down his chin, but Hanzo refused to humour him while there were armed robbers delaying their journey and threatening the life of the only man aboard that _knew how to drive a train._

Hanzo knew there were few choices offered to them; if they were hassled for their belongings, their weapons would be discovered, and conflict would be unavoidable – the likeliness of him handing over Storm Bow and Jesse parting with his gun was zero to none. Confrontation could also end up in someone being shot.

There was almost no sense in it, Hanzo thought, when he fished through his bag to pull out his beloved red bandanna that Jesse seemed to despise so much and tied it firm to conceal his face. The waitress, at the very least, had already seen their faces, but regardless; if someone was going to die, he’d rather not take any more chances. Jesse hummed as he did it, seeming to catch on quickly. His mask and ragged hat were donned in turn.

He saw Jesse’s finger tickling the trigger with a mischievous smirk, apparently rather eager to use it. The sight actually unnerved him. He’d never seen Jesse shoot, and despite the way he radiated confidence, he could not find comfort in it. The cowboy had seemed pretty confident before he smashed his face into the wall, too, but there he was, bust lip and bruised ego to boot. Hanzo sincerely hoped he was competent.

The carriage was becoming rowdy. The group’s enraged and impatient shouts were only increasing in frequency but Jesse looked excitedly, _expectantly_ up at Hanzo from where he was crouched behind the door frame. He mouthed three words to match his gesture when he shook his gun; _I’ll take left._

Now, much to Hanzo’s surprise, Jesse was quite the impressive sharp-shooter. He didn’t necessarily have low expectations, but he certainly didn’t expect him to be so accurate, or fast.

Jesse fired two shots in extraordinarily quick succession, gunning down the man holding the waitress and shooting the hand of the man with the axe in the isle – Hanzo had loosed his arrow straight into the forehead of the second gun-holder, and in those few brief seconds two men were already dead and the entire carriage was sent into complete screaming disarray.

Every onlooker ducked for cover and the driver and waitress were scrambling to do the same when Jesse whistled, and rather obnoxiously, twirled his gun around his forefinger.

All at once Jesse lunged forward and grabbed the last man (barely) standing who was clutching his gored hand, griping and cussing up a storm. The cowboy wrapped his arm around his neck, and forced him roughly out of the door. Hanzo plucked his arrow from the deceased’s head without so much as a grimace. Jesse’s gun was cocked and his aim was steady, shoving the man out of the carriage.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It was torrential, and the cold nipped his skin when the wind whipped around them. Jesse threw the man to the sodden ground.

There were two motorcycles disappearing into the distance, and three left a quarter mile up ahead obstructing the track.

“Looks like you been left all alone,” Jesse drawled, tapping the man’s cheek with his Peacekeeper, “sad, ain’t it? How they’d leave you here like that. Really breaks my heart.”

Hanzo watched him cautiously, a flicker of something strange crossing his expression. It felt strange to think it, but it almost looked like Jesse felt some sympathy for the bandit, despite just killing two of his companions. Hanzo swallowed when he believed he saw an ounce of enjoyment somewhere in there, too.

Jesse sighed, tipping his hat to shield his face from the rain, “so partner, what’ll it be?”

The man looked up at him, clutching his bloody palm and shaking, _deplorable_ , Hanzo thought. _Only fools threaten others lives and are not prepared to die themselves._ The man didn’t reply.

“Think you can drag yerself through the desert to the next town over?” he cocked his gun, “or you wanna find out if the Devil himself’s reserved a toasty little spot for ya?”

It wasn’t long before the man was scrambling to his feet, stumbling in the direction of his motorcycle, but Jesse did not approve. He fired a shot at the other man’s feet, intentionally missing, causing him to trip over himself.

“I said _drag_ yerself, not drive. Gonna find yerself dead in a ravine if ya try ridin’ a bike with a hand like that,” Jesse called out over the merciless roar of the storm. The man scrambled away from the bikes forthwith.

Hanzo took a look back at the train. It was oddly quiet, not that they could hear much over the rain around them, but considering there were two fresh dead bodies in there with its passengers, he expected a bit more of a hubbub.

Jesse pursued the line of the track, and Hanzo followed. He gave the bikes a swift look over where the helmets hung from the handlebars, and he tossed one over to Hanzo before slotting another over his head. Despite their sub-par situation, the atrocious weather, and the fact they’d just had to commit murder before a cart full of people, Jesse smiled at the archer with a fondness that was hard to place, and all Hanzo could do was sigh while fitting the helmet atop his head.

The engine revved and softly settled into a rumbling purr – Jesse looked elated. He was perched upon the seat adjusting himself, beckoning Hanzo to sit on the other bike beside him. Hanzo stood still though, unsure of what Jesse expected of him.

“Looks like we got two free rides outta here,” Jesse chuckled, and the bike puttered on. Hanzo frowned.

“I cannot drive.”

For reasons unbeknownst to him, he felt embarrassed. Being unable to meet Jesse’s expectations of him truly shouldn’t have phased him, but it did. Without a doubt, Jesse should not have been someone Hanzo felt the need to impress.

A few ticks of silence passed by between them until Jesse shuffled forward in his seat, patting the space behind him, “room enough for two.”

Hanzo looked dubiously at the limited space on the seat. The notion of having to squash himself up against Jesse’s back, clinging on for dear life as they sped through the desert during a particularly brutal downpour was, to say the least, _daunting._ He adjusted his bow over his shoulder for lack of anything else to fidget with.

“C’mon now,” Jesse spoke, strangely stern. Perhaps he was eager to commence their joy-ride, “I’m sure someone’s contactin’ the feds as we speak.”

Hanzo didn’t try to hide it – he looked far from pleased. Jesse’s muffled _don’t dawdle, now_ beneath his helmet visor only served to deter him further. Hanzo cringed and took a tentative step towards the bike.

“…Do _not_ get us killed.”

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” Jesse revved the bike for good measure, an impish grin forming upon his lips when it caused the other to jolt, _“I’ll keep ya nice an’ safe.”_

Hanzo nestled himself experimentally on the seat of the motorbike, frown hardening when he felt the wet surface meet his backside. There was a slight gap between the two of them – his feet found pegs to rest upon, but he wasn’t entirely sure where to hold onto. He felt around aimlessly beside himself for something to keep him steady, but Jesse reached back and took hold of his hand. The thief didn’t look back, just gave it a gentle pull towards him and pressed it softly to his waist. Hanzo’s stomach twisted with apprehension – or something of the sort.

“You comfy back there?” he called, grip returning to the handlebars, “better hold on tight.”

Jesse popped two bullets into the tires of the bikes beside them, just for good measure.

Hanzo cursed the pounding in his chest. He could hardly hear Jesse over the louder pattering of rain against his helmet and the growl of the bike’s colossal engine – but as soon as they began to move, the force had him seizing rough handfuls of Jesse’s shirt in tightly clenched fists. Hanzo hadn’t experienced such a rush of unmitigated fear in years, and the sensation was almost unbearable. He could feel himself slipping off of the seat.

Using his driver as leverage, Hanzo hauled himself closer, thighs tense around Jesse’s hips and stomach flat against the curvature of his spine. The wind tore through them, brisk and cruel, everything was so _fast –_ Hanzo had to resist closing his eyes. Adrenaline consumed him.

When was the last time he truly felt like he was going to die? It certainly hadn’t been back on the train, face to face with armed bandits, most definitely not. Yet here he was, the noble Hanzo Shimada, terrified as he clung desperately to body of a 100% bonafide, good-old-fashioned gunslinger that he hardly knew, but was entrusting their getaway to, and by extension, _his life_ for reasons he could not currently explain. Hanzo’s eyes were fixated on the back of Jesse’s helmet, watching the obscure reflections dance amongst rain water.

As time passed, Hanzo’s grip became lax, but his arms remained tightly wrapped around the man in front. Jesse drove straight, roughly following the course of the train tracks, so there were no sharp turns or near misses, just a few bumps in the road that bounced him awkwardly in his seat and against Jesse’s back.

Hanzo had never been a thrill-seeker. He was not like his brother. Living dangerously came with the territory for the two of them, but oddly, Hanzo did not crave death and most certainly did not encourage it. There were so many out there that fancied him dead, he’d concluded to try his best not to satisfy them by recklessly offing himself.

A sharp dip in the terrain shook him from his stupor, bringing him back to the present and away from his bitter memories. Jesse’s head tilted to him, just slightly, so Hanzo leaned in.

“Y’alright?” he yelled, voice distorted. Hanzo felt odd, having to raise his voice to respond.

“I am fine.”

“What?”

Hanzo grimaced, enunciating, “I am _fine_.”

“One more time?”

He scowled, although he knew Jesse couldn’t see it. He could have sworn he heard him laugh, though, but the noise was too much for him to tell.

“Just messin’,” Jesse said, and Hanzo wanted to jab him in the ribs – but that wasn’t about to happen when McCree was currently in control of whether they suffered terrible injuries or exited the desert unscathed. He huffed and his breath clouded his visor.

Hanzo’s fingers pressed against the soaked material of Jesse’s shirt and he felt the supple muscle beneath it tense, and faster than a bullet Jesse’s hand was on his once more; it didn’t pull them away, though, and it didn’t hurt him – it simply held it in place.

“Darlin, that tickles,” he spoke as gently as possible, considering the volume of his voice, and Hanzo saw the smile on his face when he craned his neck, “you just keep ‘em still, y’hear?”

It wasn’t a reprimand, Hanzo knew, but he couldn’t help but feel akin to when he was a child, fidgeting nervously in front of important guests only to be scolded by his father or one of the higher-ups for being unruly. The creeping embarrassment caught up with him, but it was nothing like he’d felt before. Jesse’s grin cushioned it, making his chest feel unusually warm, which was a staggering contrast against the storm. How strange he’d been acting, recently. A strangeness he’d not known his whole life.

Maybe this was what came with finally being a free man. He was free to spend his time as he pleased, to do as he pleased, to _be with whoever he pleased,_ without the overwhelming sense of dread that surely came with it – although Hanzo wouldn’t have known how that truly felt, since he’d never dared to disobey the elders. His brother knew. Hanzo was certain that was something he would have been all too familiar with.

Again, pitiful memories of his brother crept into his mind like a mournful ghost. Part of him still chided his brother for his disobedience – but things had changed. Hanzo understood him, which was something he’d never endeavoured to try when he was still a crucial part of his life. His brother brought colour and energy into the miserable hollow world that they lived in and Hanzo had hated it with every fibre of his being. _It wasn’t fair,_ he told himself, _that he was able to shun his responsibilities and hand them to me as if they were **my** burden. _ He had heard somewhere that the older brother should take care of his younger brother and love him unconditionally. Maybe if Genji was still alive, he’d at least be able to try.

Once the rain began to let up he saw Jesse raise his visor – only by an inch or so in order to reveal his mouth. He mimicked him, but winced when the harsh air lashed at his skin. Thankfully, he was still wearing his bandanna. Jesse began to speak.

“One of my favourite things. Ridin’ my bike out in the open desert. Nothin’ for miles,” he stared pensively ahead, and Hanzo waited for him to speak again, “reminds me of bein’ a kid, wearin’ my leathers, doin’ whatever the hell I wanted. Shootin’ first and askin’ later was jus’ second nature.”

_‘Is’,_ Hanzo almost amended, but opted instead to cautiously place his chin upon Jesse’s shoulder to avoid having to raise his voice. He felt very comfortable.

“Are things really so different now?”

Jesse looked like he wasn’t ready to answer.

“I was just a teen. I was wild, rowdy – ready to give someone a black eye. I had a lot of growin’ up to do.”

“Did you enjoy living like that?”

Jesse scoffed, “I’m glad it’s over. Sure, it had its days,” he drummed his fingers once, twice across the handlebar, paused for thought, “but it weren’t no way to be. I made a whole lotta mistakes I can’t fix.”

Hanzo felt a familiar stab at an open wound, “you can right your wrongs by learning from them.”

“I s’pose.”

The rumbling engine overtook the conversation and silence ensued. Those words were as much for himself as they were for anyone else listening.

“I have also made…many mistakes,” Hanzo breathed, voice low, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted Jesse to hear it, “I must rise above them.”

Jesse remained as he was, eyes on the road, staring out at the horizon.

“I don’t know what you’ve done, Hanzo, but you’re a good guy in my books.”

The archer shook his head cynically, “you do not know me at all.”

“Enough to know I like you.”

Abashed, Hanzo looked at him. He had to have been joking.

_‘That’s why no one likes you, brother. You’re uncomfortable to be around. You’re no fun at all.’_

Genji’s words were raw and vexing in his mind. He despised it. He could not hate Genji for it, because he knew that it was true. No one had ever told him they’d liked him. No one had ever wanted to be in his company for extended periods of time. He _knew_ he was not a likeable person, but hearing it from his brother was something else entirely. It filled him with a disgusting vortex of emotions that would eventually settle and stagnate, but would never be allowed to come the surface. He would not show his brother or anyone else that it hurt him. Hanzo was strong, level-headed and impassable. He was the eldest son. He was bulletproof.

With his head rested against Jesse’s broad shoulder, Hanzo considered that if he ever were to meet Genji again, he’d be inclined to childishly rub Jesse in his face. His stomach twisted, and his lips composed the most dismal of smiles. _See, brother? Someone likes me._

“Not much further now,” Jesse spoke, oblivious. Hanzo just hummed in response.

Despite his original feelings towards the motorcycle, he would have been content to drive for a few more hours through the desert – though, he wasn’t sure they had enough fuel for that. Hanzo had surprised himself. Not just with the bike; he was actually, unusually, _growing fond_ of Jesse. He was a fool, an open, emotional, and evidently damaged man, but he was a fantastic shot, and treated Hanzo with respect. He respected him _and_ he was kind to him of his own accord. Those two things so often did not coincide with one another, at least in his experience; he was used to being respected and feared _._ Admired but abhorred.

The exemption Hanzo had discovered with Jesse was incredible.

Crawling into view in the far distance were the shadowy buildings of Crookshead, darkened by the sombre sky that had only just let up.

“Hey,” his driver prompted, and Hanzo glanced his way, “you ready to be impressed?”

Hanzo quirked a suspicious brow.

“Hold on to me real tight, now.”

Faster than Hanzo could protest, the bike reared up onto its hind wheel and Hanzo felt the world tilt with it. Jesse cheered as he did so, indisputably having the time of his life while the archer’s flashed before his eyes. He clung to Jesse like an animal sinking claws into its prey and did his very best to hold down the scream in his throat and avoid bursting Jesse’s eardrum. They stayed precariously balanced on the back wheel for a great deal longer than Hanzo would have liked, until the front tire hit the ground again with a harsh bounce. His pulse raced a mile a minute. He knew Jesse did that on purpose.

“I ain’t done that in the longest time!” Jesse proclaimed, grin so wide across his face that Hanzo could have been blinded by the flash of white, “havin’ fun back there? Feel like you’re tryin’a break me in half!”

Hanzo wasn’t going to deny that. He probably would have if he could. All of a sudden Hanzo was back to not wanting to be on the bike anymore.

“Are you mocking me?” Hanzo spat, releasing his grip just a touch. He was sure that was going to leave a few speckled bruises across Jesse stomach.

“I ain’t mockin’ ya, just wanted to show ya a good time. Thought you might get a kick out of it.”

Hanzo huffed and dismissed the urge to strangle him, “do _not_ do that again.”

Jesse laughed, “that’s a shame. I like it when you hold me.”

Hanzo bit his tongue.

Did Jesse not think before words left his mouth? Fiery heat scorched his cheeks behind the confines of his helmet, and he faltered, tongue-tied, both astonished and appalled. Maybe it was the adrenaline, the shock of the stunt he’d just pulled, but he felt beside himself entirely.

Jesse didn’t have to know that Hanzo had already lost their bet.


End file.
